Good Winter

I sit here solemn under skull & bones among these colors, caught by corner consciousness. in good winter wonder, love, what revolution must have held for us. in bottom bottles and pinprick baited breath, I struggle still to leave forever what’s been left when only Christmas creaks could last.

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This entry was posted in candid, creative, drunk poets, exposed, goodbyes, nostalgia, original, penance, prose, restless, strangers and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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