(READ ALL TIM LABBE POEMS)
dimness of dawn
timidly sifts through
twill spun drapes-
curbside iron mouths
breathe out
sewage warmth,
exhausting it
on to the cities
coarse winters streets.
crushing the empty
pack of smokes,
I toss it on the dash
with the other
dead, frozen memories
that were
lit up, inhaled, exhaled
and crushed out
in the ashtray
of sub-zero despair
I don’t have the
kindness of warmth
to wallow in my Misery
I am the frozen
damned.
my unbearable
frostbit distress
is buried deeper
than all of the
ice-burned hell’s
indentured by
my descendants-
shackled to my
life of labor
Misery hides
from the brutal
Arctic anguish
where
creature breath
refuses to exhale
I don’t have the
kindness of warmth
to wallow in my Misery.
But I hear it’s
a pretty good life.
by
Tim Labbe
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