Knotes
December 25, 2010, by Homme De Sept-Iles
i’m a winter boy solstice and strings the fiddle dance wrinkles my socks the shore seeps cold my pride there’s a hotstove cave wall my plaid shirt and wily why goes up to dry done told the truth in a thousand crude words and three twin twist tongues the gold doe of touch, the art notes of music aren’t mine beside i’m a winter’s son the dropped temperature, one a calico or burnt stick are most of what i know felt magic’s love, cello cold of winter sky-cracked dawn and i can’t wait like a wolf though i could


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