Cold

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12/9/16 Imagined final journey

The air is refrigerator cool,

my smile likewise,

above, the ravens wheel

and caw.

They smell meat,

they smell me.

Open wounds dripping blood,

I am heedless,

disinterested.

Pain is inconsequential.

I am walking slowly,

toward a cliff,

and I shall not

be returning.

 

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