Cleansing death
By ecologist
wind cuts --- slices through the tattered remains of my person -- into the night of being blades 0f ice become words scything -- to my bones emotions raw, burnt frostbitten...hang upon the clothesline to be washed, scoured by driven snow purity -- without purpose form cleansing bodies beings in still frozen silence where time collects its endless toll -- from humanity from being colors turn grey mottled in subdued light of winter days my heart became tarnished, dingy when dawn turned to day holding all and nothing of promise. Written January 10th, 2002 © on Jan 10 2002 12:47 PM PST 0 • 10
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"wind cuts --- slices ..."