Kilograms
Evan Morgan
Unearthing the bounty of the autumn's labor to keep them satiated
For these days are hollow and without fruit with inhospitable winds
I know the sun will come again to beat away this gray, but it seems as if I'm buried here under kilograms of cold
What happened to the big hand of this coocoo clock, why won't it move?
The arrogance as it spies me staring at it, there's it's condescending chime
A conversation I seem to have with everyone
When can I shed this skin and defrost in the sun?
A conversation I seem to have with everyone
I can not wait for April's rain again