(22 May 1968 - 4 November 2010 / Long Island, NY.)

Icicle (Number 2)

I have sat for hours
plotting out the cartography of winter
dark/ cold and then not winter after all but my life.

The frozen al fresco dressed in olive and burgundy
screaming in the wind-chill,
the white-out night of agony and schizophrenic whispers.

My faith is gone

I have heard the fantasy Russian military music in my head.
Turning atop the blood stained
pillows feeling the withering of
my soul.

The snow has coated Loring Park and downtown.
Sunday.


(02-02-03)

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