Winter Scents a Kill

Little urges and
somber fears –
play outs across
the cage.

Yes this, and maybe that;
my snorts of owl-packed – a dream.

Hardly wise.

The eaten crawl and
rub my skin, panting chords –
such rhythms.

A dream to toasts and
cheerful memories.

Twisted and confused,
that lyric not remembered.

The title in recluse –
no peace of mind.

Something fused and
someone grazed.

Winter scents –
a kill.


2012 Barry Comer


About Barry Comer

I volunteer as a design and communications consultant with Family Scholar House in Louisville, Kentucky, the Democratic Socialists of America and teach children with emotional and developmental disabilities. I have degrees in art and was an art director for 30 years.
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