I was rut-stuck, frozen
Through this fucking winter
Like a corpse in Leningrad
To be thawed in the Spring
After a bullet bit of ice
Shattered like a splinter,
It foamed and festered,
And I rethought everything.

Dry-heaving, quaking,
I sat
Against a broken wall.
Realizing, theorizing,
Making
An odium out of Fall.

Bleedin’-out, off-dozin’,
Cold breath on the hinter
Neck tensed, frost-clad,
Infection starts to sting.
Recall in a trice,
Memories to disinter,
Blame to be sequestered:
The bullet came in Spring.

Lodged through each season,
It sat
Until a year came full.
Not moving, just proving
With reason
Nothing good comes from April.

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s