(holy days)


By Mike O’Connell
like living in molasses
this state of mind o mine
everything sticky slow
sludged energy glop flop
so difficult these heavy
boots in layered mud caked
to my knees nap light
stained by artificial light
consuming weak shadows
faux fire reaching out fighting
heated cold moments mistakenly
registered as days months
(i thought this was july)
christmas trees strobe
menacingly into cloaking
darkness where night is
comfortably close
empty fires beckoning
silence of the bells
(Mike O’Connell 11/30/17)


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