December 2010
1 post
Poem.
Winter is a cancer. The trees receive their annual chemo, and the leaves abandon the branches which point to the sky like boney fingers.
Winter is a burial. The snow engulfs the ground in deafening white silence, embalming the soil till the spring.
Winter is a séance. The ice demons invoke their dark magic on car windows and house gutters, the icicles pointing death at the ground.
Winter is...