Ice and Wednesday (Poem)

Ice from your irides,

reaching up as pires

snaking through the general distaste

of Wednesday afternoon.

 

Circling the stagnant fog

recruiting the bed-ridden clouds

in an effort to cool down

whatever thoughts remain unfrosted.

 

You will soon meet

a stray bolt of lightning

who will race the winter

within your gaze.

 

Days.

 

Embolden your cheek;

a blush will not be enough

to burn through to Thursday.

 

The lesson is heat

for cooling slows what earns pay.

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