Tuesday, December 24, 2019

Balding rocks on high
fringes hanging off the bell's edge
tilted wooden fences
scraping rubber yield.

Curlicues of the storm
raging in particles.
Bodies above it soaring
tentacles of light.

Lips adorning brain
speaking to the doorway
a tree crashed through.

Long faint lit hallways
through the forest from the house
that breathes and walks.

Porch windows and the glint
of a glass bottle
a tired armchair tracking ice
through the owl's torso
eye of a wincing needle
glow of soft clay
settling into ceramic.

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