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Posted by on Dec 10, 2012 in Poetry | 1 comment

WALKING HOME

WALKING HOME

the snow is like a harpsichord
crystals running high in dendrites
of faceless trees dressed all alike
in bureaucratic grey

a fracture underfoot
the bridge has frozen first
now I know that the sign is right
that the truth isn’t cursed

black water far below
rushes by teeth of ice
it slows into cellos it swells
into knuckles of streetlight

1 Comment

  1. ahhh

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