Icons

Early Winter’s day
screaming pulpy rage.
An electric meat kind of day.
Foster those steamy opened-maw bodies.

An echoing tumbling of winds
wheezes through vacuous hearts.
Press flesh. Flesh pressed.
Toil and sweat for a plastic phrase.

Salute the falling snows,
Head fake harbinger.
Desiccant rushing for a fickle spent
upon a timid gasp.

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6 thoughts on “Icons

    1. If anything, you are strangely honest šŸ˜‰ Seriously though, I’m not one who is in a position to quantify ‘strange,’ that’s for sure. I am always flattered that anyone is moved to think and consider the words that I write. I’m genuinely grateful.

      Liked by 1 person

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