Posted in Poetry

november ii

Blue toes, blue spatters across white,
Spiderwebs through a canvas of
waiting,
Inching towards a cliff’s edge,
Is this what liminal is?
Stare brave into the saxe
but don’t jump;
Wet wool has an ugly rasp.

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Posted in Misc, Poetry

november

my heart is numb
as the tips of my fingers,
a dull ache, a persistent sniffle,
rings under my eyes.
i want to sleep through winter
but i pass it in a haze instead,
spine curled,
tired.