by Louis Lamanna
This dry street fishes yawns within my throat,
fingering the black cavern
for only boots and locks.
Now wide open,
pre-crunchies cascade into my mouth-
I bite to savor but they are dry
and crack like orange joints,
the menacing chatter of imminence,
snap snap click clack
tip tip tap
tip click click
Snails set off beneath me,
sluggish, yet no more heartless than those who do not cry
at falling leaves. Just as embers cackle
Am I the sinner who embraces the fall,
beckons the lucid frost
and does not shed in hopes of spring?
Does not the winter spread its lips and smile
I offer this to you for I no longer know.
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