Sunday, November 3, 2013

Untitled Poem

Here, the unopened room.
Before me
this lock.

Inside it a spider sleeps as
outside winter rages on and on.
Delicate dreams twitch his spindly spider legs.

I am no destroyer 
of such things.

The key stays hidden,
pressed to my flesh
and burning.


I wrote this poem within the last year.

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