Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

is it warm where you are?

I keep the blinds closed

And don’t look outside

What’s the weather doing?

Is it warm where you are?

 

The fields feel oppressive

They stretch and yawn towards the horizon

I wish for people and pavements and pieces of conversation

And rain dripping from awnings onto concrete.

 

(If I built this prison then why don’t I have a copy of the key?)

 

I thread my hands through the bars

Reaching for the touch of skin on skin

Stretching fingers brushing thin air

I keep the blinds closed

Is it warm where you are?

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