richard pierce

richard pierce

30 March 2012

the closer, 1912

flies in my gut
fire like a leech
in my face
the wind marching against me
in this dark half year
and everywhere is north

nothing left of
summer and winter
no between
a scattering of world
up there
outside the lonely tent
we pitched

crystals on the blade
but no food
snow so hot
sun so cold

for god's sake

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