Drips of winter

All the faces
have gone pale
and the focus
has turned deliberate.

Those extra days
that have grown
along the edge of leaving
are all now shaking,
just trying to fall off
and it all comes down
to the last possibility.

The one idea
that has spread like an infection
in such a clean space
where the only room
holds a locked door
and an open window
where the snow covers the base
and the floor just below.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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