(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.


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