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drag dagger sledge
these ruins of ice
thinning like breath
the ragged race

and the pearl
shoulder of your wing
catchs beams of sun
like fire
fanning hot

and the sky like a
lover sought
is your tired hunger
"where are you going"

these lives you've bought
you live within
the liquid realm
of all tragic and tranquil

Editing stage: 


little sleep "like a drug"
little food
all I need is desire
flowing like a rich river
dark and gleaming

(for P)

author comment

that was supposed to be the last line on this
Poet thought sitting here with three hours sleep
smelling pretty badly
a million thoughts burning like a match pack
metaphors sizzling in the haze
and then the cold race of deep
velvet shivers
I can know the names
and feel the faces

I can sit near this tender fire
and feel the dry paper of a page
the turn in the book

author comment

I know the climate of this poem
see the light of the sun catching the details,
know the icy cold
contrasting with the watery world
of light white snow

I like the dry paper of a page
in your comment above,
the fires of Winter sizzling,
drying the paper to a brittleness that crackles
as you write each word on its surface,
its face glowing in the light of the blaze.

We know the same places
and the same atmospheres
don't we Steven?

Ann's love.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

cleansing fire
so much meaning in all of it
are the pages being torn
and burned consumed

mystery in the ordinary

thank you Ann

author comment

Your wording is amazing, even though i only get some of the story. It's nice to return and read finding something else. Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

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