1-11 White Out

White Out

 

How icicles and blustering snow

thaw creative dopamine and flow through synaptic sludge!

My chilled fingers type as power lines

sag with icy plaque and a telephone pole’s

woody tibia fractures.

 

The birdbath—dense as asteroid ice.

 

Peering over my screen,

sleet scratches the picture window

as I sip microwaved tea

 

but in keying the poem’s climax, it—

and all following lines—vanishes, unsaved

 

as a blackout ends this very last li

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