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Thursday, May 5, 2022

War, Terzata #45

Cold air slipped in the window

Left open overnight.

It’s 100 below zero


And all is either black or white.

Ice leans against our home

As if meaning to fight.


The wind chants a lifeless Om.

“This is our new Ice Age

Under a sun silver as chrome,”


Says the nodding sage.

There’s no bitterness or woe

I could scratch on this page —

The ink has ceased to flow.

 

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