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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jan 2015
The tenancy
It's cold out there
the ice hangs blue in
the evening air and the
night
drips slow,
congealing, a
feeling
I know well.
Solidifying,
not even trying and
inside,outside,
I'm dying.
Ice cold out there,
ice cold in here,
tears freeze as they fall,
icicles on the wailing wall.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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