Spiked sun. The HudsonWhittled down by ice.I hear the bone diceOf blown gravel clicking. Bone-pale, the recent snowFastens like fur to the river.Standstill. We were leaving to deliverChristmas presents when the tire blewLast year. Above the dead valves pines paredDown by a storm stood, limbs bared …I want you.
Great fucking poem.
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Spiked sun. The Hudson Whittled down by ice. I hear the bone dice Of blown gravel clicking. Bone- pale, the recent snow...
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Great fucking poem.
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