5/10/17

Standard

We went to withers,
gathering what salts
and leather masks.
The tasks we packed
in baskets. Then
shoveled out.
It was a winter burst
bled into bother,
coddled like Christmas,
and accidentally more trite.
Night stuck to the ducts.
But we did this clever,
cleaving to a cloven hoof.
Sent every last roof
into a razing! And
when the hazing
harkened to our
surreptitious spelling,
we cut the quick
and blinked back the bells.

-r. miller

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