Too much cold

white, alight,

cryogenic crystals


lash my soul.


You send me songs

too late, too far

from who I have




My lips burn:

those lips that only

say goodbye


& you wonder why

you wonder why.


I shed my skin

in layers each night

hallucinogenic dream


I’m living in.


Outside the field

is white with frost

cold impersonal;


have I become

the butterfly

that clings


to what it knows?


My shattered heart

pupates to stone

like iron ground


until its flaw flows

spring water.



(Listen to poem here)

One thought on “Cold

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