Cycling

Heat blowing under the skin,

bubbling and blistering the mind.

Another bed set fire

and the cold arm of a long-haired preacher.

 

The season starts again come morning,

and all ceilings look the same.

Another sneaking footstep;

the fake lids of the otherwise awake.

 

First to the chill dawn,

and impressions in the new snow.

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