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Single Digits

Fred Schmalz

I prefer my silence
             can hear fire-
works in the street
       for now sporadic
each announced
my name in an empty room
single digits

beating back
sickness weakens
   whiteness casts
a lackluster inscription

   what can a man be
             taught that
   isn’t obvious
nothing I thought
 might melt
  was exposed to sun

I drank
only for so long
 then put down
   my wine
   after blowing about
bobbing where I once wove

a hole in a home
 peering into the metal
   mouth of the pipeline
  black emptiness
   a cold exponential
Gazprom won’t turn
            its wrench

my radiator chortles
to a standstill
while from the distance
 a certain sorrow
   comes closer

Fred Schmalz

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