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Jan 2019
smothered in a snowbank
breathing in the absence of sound
I'm caught in the grooves of ice, spinning my wheels
a hand dealt by cars and too little salt

if I hold out my hand, I can't feel my fingers
puffy and frozen
an extended hand, out on a limb

brown and barren
glass can
Written by
glass can  San Francisco
(San Francisco)   
  321
   Fawn
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