Challenge
There's just something about Nothing...
~undefined metaphors
january makes me too bitter
for poetry, the way it
stings a menthol-cool vapor
like rubbing alcohol in
a childhood memory, a reminder
as I hibernate under a blanket
of empty white pages &
let the words accumulate
like regrets
or maybe truths
& dirty snow
deep with resentment
the exhales of handless clocks
or grey scribbles on
an unpainted wall
with nine nailholes
crooked & discriminatory
where darkness is like
gelatinous glass reflections
pulled to dim porch lights
because winter is open-mouthed
& the rebellion of
march resides next door
lah 1.23.17 ©®
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