the frost is slowly fried
and the trees glimmer with rainbow dust
By A. S. LawrencePublished 2 months ago • 1 min read

leaves slowly burn off branches
in the spark of cold fire
sounds softened
by the glow's cotton wake
sunlit glitter scattered among the trees
as rainbow dust
tickling the eyes
of the bundled passerbys
shorter days
show us new lights
and our hearts compensate
by brightening their rays
the same polluted air
tastes crisp and clean
at 35 degrees
every breath a reminder
that cold inspired shelter
to act vigor's part
we fill up the cellar
with liniments for winter
slick licorice tea
and beer brewing barrels
to warm the places
the furnace can't reach
the windows sizzle and crackle
as the frost is slowly fried
into feather formations
and I hear her hard cackle
as we undress the nations.



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