Friday, January 17, 2014

SPELLED OUT IN HER TEA LEAVES

Caffeinated well
enough but still—she's walking
dead and

pinched around
the shoulders and
neck; stuck
wondering—stiffly to her
empty cup

at the hellish-
ly winter pale
weirdness—of any such

insidiously
light
and mysterious
force that could possibly
rise any earlier

up than
she does—seemingly just

to coerce her
unbearably

heavy
limbs to come
all the way
dressed every morning

before
abruptly dissipating—giving no
warning
and taking neither

credit—nor responsibility.

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