massacring gentle and quick,
this world is mild,
the warm muscle of a terrible animal
asleep in the snow.
he's given us little peace
since we've shown him none.
once, during furious rest
i clawed through my clothes
and screamed what i dreamt
to the horror of conscious earshot;
entropy, a winter system,
had gotten even,
conciliated frenetic thinking
(constant unbinding and
absurdity had taken the entire head)
and discontinued torture
with the idea that living neighborly and to death
was the mind battering a stubborn body
(the nervous system a reviled offspring).
relearning fear per breath,
would it have been any different
as an unremitting fall,
i can't say.
a yawn is violent;
the sudden stretch and seizure of jaws
ensures a fearful tongue.
© Copyright 2016 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.
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