Umbrella sheltered and snow-packed
she stands two steps
beside the thicket, stuck oar-like,
made from fallen oak
and blown by November wind.
She wonders about the centimetres,
between spindles
and the collection of iced insects
fallen dead
between the divide.
Now as snow lulls,
careful-fingered, she examines each moth,
pearled black with mud
and buried in footstep graves.
With lace wings stuck to her palms,
the backyard throbs. Nothing
is what she feels
when she has stood too long
in her own skin.















Comments
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"Women may fake orgasms, but men fake entire relationships."
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Guph, go feed the lizard.
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state-of-the-art bionic-cyberechidna
The Tao is like a glob pattern:
used but never used up.
It is like the extern void:
filled with infinite possibilities.
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an insect - snow analogy. wow. very good..
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my photo-exclusive account: ~falsun
& poetry club: ~themarrowmovement
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