Poetry

Freeze-Dried Memories of Death Wrapped in Barbed Wire Snowflakes

Icy knives cutting sky between the lines

Photo by Author

Snowflakes melt
into lines of barbed wire,
across the airplane window,
but we don’t have to travel
far to find
icy knives
cutting sky
between the lines;
these stories
are lost
under the permafrost
of the Art District.

He saw the blood
running down
cotton fibers
like barbed wire
stretching over
each moment,
sinking deep
into the crevasse
of his lizard brain,
slicing every thought
cut clean,
until somebody
makes sense
of this slush
of twisted
fingers frozen,
but still pointing
at the sky,
still pointing
at each other.