deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sing of Nothing
Jagged crashes drag me back
to breathing aloud,
the escape too brief
to heal me.
A bundle of blades, cruel
icicles cling;
my predictions
live inside.
The slats seep flashes
I’d rather miss.
Deep drifts wither,
drained to land.
Blind winds, slick
with uneasiness,
sing of nothing.
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