November sun

November sun

 

the last leaves

scored at their dry wrists

by the scapel sun

 

sky a bloated belly

splits as its kissed

by the tip of the blade

 

sunlight ticks

like nail clippings

on the cold ground

 

cold cobwebs

that would crumble

touched by a breath

 

the world’s bones spun from sugar

flames begin to freeze

into feathers

 

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