Internal temperature in the winter mothKate Schapira
Dense brittle fur dull foil color bitter bristles loose in the freeze this pursy conservation body bundle dragging under umbrella seeks methods of nonshivering thermogenesis to maintain the red spot on a ravenous scan. Ice would dismiss me: Get out of here, creature. Plastic pearl flicker flurries and falls from me in the winter mouth. You’d be surprised. Heat is under here. This low weak papery to the eye dust to the focus group rickety superstition already dead in season, grip with heat other than friction.
Kate Schapira Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|