12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice


It’s there, I know

the woolly mammoth

snap frozen

still with the clover in her mouth

the big fire of her heart

a singularity, packed

crisped, brined

Orange and gold

all that great love

riveted in ice

they pulled those cold

cloaks around her

for a reason

so take not the icepick

when her face closed

and you thought love impossible

in such glacial space

to run from her is to slip

slide to the cold old foot of it all



just as you have been


as only you do

you see the ember?

she glows

it takes a pause




into her very cartilage

thawing, she listens

Tell me wotcha reckon

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This entry was posted on September 25, 2019 by in Poetry.

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