The cool floats on the air
like ice crystals in the wind
Burning at my lungs-
A humming ceiling reminds us
that we are being refridgerated
The solitude of a quiet days
Grows between our shoulderblades
Eats away, cartilidge and bone
Makes us ache when we get home
I fantasize about just
opening the concrete-rimmed window
and simply sliding out
to distant ground
"She left?" they would say.
"She just hopped out the window?"
And on bruised ankles I'd be
walking through spider-webbed
trails
To greet the sunlite
And watch the tendrils sway
no longer tainted by the
prickling air















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