I am on the dusty plank between winter and spring, the end
Of February snapping closed over 28, and I am
Impervious to the way time has too eagerly
Bounded out of reach—not that I would even, awaiting
My certain departure,
Think of drawing myself up straight
And using it for more than finding ways
To stay cold.
I do not want to die,
but what a bother it is,
keeping this up.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
I am on the dusty plank between winter and spring, the end
Of February snapping closed over 28, and I am
Impervious to the way time has too eagerly
Bounded out of reach—not that I would even, awaiting
My certain departure,
Think of drawing myself up straight
And using it for more than finding ways
To stay cold.
I do not want to die,
but what a bother it is,
keeping this up.
