Breadcrumb #609

LINDSAY KIRK

Lacerations stretch as they breathe
Ancient wounds haunt
As an inhale widens their cage
An exhale weeps
Over a shattered frame

Drawing tangled paths north
Teeth chatter out the seconds
Slowly gaining in sound
What is lost in distance
Milking heat from the coldest stars

Chapped lips form a ghostly whistle
Yet nothing runs close
A ceaseless crunch
As feet become snow
Dancing over the graves of variations before.

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