Monday, February 23, 2015

Wind Chill Minus Thirty-Five

As Venus dogs the Sun into the dark,
The mercury goes down. Every breath
Becomes a puffing battle with a stark,
Inward-seeping augury of death.

But every season hides a poisoned pill,
Where any day could haul us to the brink.
And so I shrug, and linger in the chill,
Just long enough to watch a planet sink.

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