Thursday, 31 January 2013


belly up, seal-suited, booted and solstice shy
the weight under a sickle curved sky-sail, the icicle smile
of a frictionless fear, wears this glass thin but while

wise in countless ways, beyond the power
of n at least, stays wary yet of the sightless beast hidden
behind the curve

above and below 66.5°, you will find your breath tastes
harder where the wait bears down as a ferocious maul
for the sound grows further from your there
and anywhere else

this here is where
the darkness of  a never dawning light
will swallow your whole once the green
curtains close and you can learn
no more

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