February is 

The mortal bruise—

In its pools of stagnant blood

I lie, face down, the bubbles of 

My breath, pop-popping 

To its thick surface
I feel all my world aches

All my heartbeats slow

Amethyst burbles of life & love & Death—these all collide—a murky stagnancy 

Of pain, joy & misery

A sharp sunrise, a warm thaw,

The dinge of winter melting into 

The muck & the days play with 

My fragility, they tease my sanity

With just a few more exquisite moments, 

The torture of a thread of light

As just the spark of my mind was

Flickering & ready to blacken, eternally

And with a faint unearthly roar 

All life begins to remember 

It is Life, keen & exquisite;

Death, is but a small sliver wedged

Beneath my pinky-fingernail,

So insignificant, yet excruciating
February is that scream

Of everything

Both beauty & agony

This is my 7:30am sky. Finally the sunrise is creeping open earlier…finally.


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