Finals cause bad poetry

The cold comes with weight.
Huge bur­dens of thought, rife with
triviality.

—–

Now light comes early.
A jar­ring reminder of
so much wasted time.

—–

Leaf­less and gnarled,
they make ref­er­ence to what,
these icons of guilt?

Posted on Sunday, December 17th, 2006 at 1:57 am

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