cold (Remove filter)
the small american mammal lied
the coldest nights are the quietest
though the litter chatters around my feet
like the arctic teeth of an almost corpse
and the gas settles close to home
glassy in it’s welcome
the trees, taut, still brittle of bone,
clench every desperate sinew
as fleshless fingers on a wintered birch
gnarl a carpal tunnel to the council’s moon
Saturday 30th March 2013 4:31 pm
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