Mid Winter

The snow weeps powder/it concerns valves and tissue/ in salutes to inner safety./Where muscle says:/ I’m sorry I’m gone./ Positively deserted by her spies/ she is exiled on her backside./She mourns with doves/ in rows of odd numbers. They left cold narrow feathers,/ gifts of a burning victim,/shown to another/ who rests in a furnace./A room of flywheels and boilers,/ where you could roam/threaded by passion eyes /in games of entrapment./She went further,/ she wrote her own anthem, /in cahoots with Venus/ she fell damned to many wives. /The griffins covered with graffiti/are not sure they’re scared/of anything in particular.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s