CHILL --- OUT
I hate Cold in its pleasure of headache
its bloodless escarpment
where sheets grasp skin
I hate its stealth
inhaled through sharp lace crystal
I hate Cold’s tactile pervasive insinuations
wrapped noose tight
relentless heavy
its weight impossible to decipher
I hate shoulder Cold in rejection
the frosting of social cake
chill of desertion
cruelty absolute
Celsius never imagined
beyond Saturn’s rings
or the liquefaction of nitrogen
civility cracks
into multiple separate cubes
I hate Cold out in itself
in a disregard of neglect
abandoned feeling
four chambers filled
with melt of slurry snow
cold, out cold in the seep of
chilblained hope
Copyright © 2007 Maggie Westland