rest inside my old coat-womb
under the snow as i, grey and hungry, present
myself to the hunters for the knife. look up

into the pines at night, hear the breaking
and shattering - for you.
through my transparent skin a good view
of they who raise the spears above you,

small, cowering body. shiver in a moment
of rest; and prepare yourself. the snow
is corpse-cold.

05/14/2005

Posted on 05/14/2005
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