Brrr…

Little mill’s waterfall
has frozen solid, ugly.
I pretended not to see
–though my eyes
should’ve burned holes,
two large devastated holes,
through its thickest lumps.
As in any other death
(a chrysalis..),
I believe in miracles:
Same but new will fly–
river, caterpillar,
and we.


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Fer you

In Vortex

The frame, she aches;
kid-y house, a mess;
it’s payday and we’re out of.

The flesh, she’d write
(and Sol, grow tall),
but the soon of it is doubtive.

:-p Yeow. My bad!

But… this isn’t.  ❤

 


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