The powdery hush
of pharmaceuticalm falls.
It's cold.
Wind fastens
mouths and
eyes shut.
Fear's parole
swathes all in
semblance and
surrender.
It is December.
Night veils flaws kindly
and skirts laws deftly.
Thieves take solace in short days.
Trees molt leaves 'neath faint rays.
Death casts bold dyes
on snow buried fields.
December.
Every breath stings.
The birds will not sing.
3 comments:
Haunting, etherial, might you have a razor dark friend?
This is obviously a poem about the state of American Culture--an Ice Age of intent and activity.
Is this a satirical play on Obama's campaign you fucked up punk ass? ! Sarai
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