In the Middle of Winter This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

February 19, 2013
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the world becomes
a great ugly ice sculpture
with blurred figures
carving holes on the inside
of the white box
with a lead ceiling
The underside of feet shift
on a thick, slippery skin
the pavement grew overnight
We escape like hermits
into our dark, heated pockets
while Time
passes through us in
rhythm with every
shot of wind
through empty thoughts
The constant tipping,
The ground unsteady
The walls with teeth
that bite like untrained dogs
the sun sitting there
like a mother
who forgets to care
Everything is gray
everything is bitter
everyone is hollow
and cold; cold
as the dead skin
falling forever
from the ashen shadow
of a smoke-lit sky.

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