from p.1 on Wed., 2/18

• The chill bit me
  and the ice crawled
  closer, closer
  to my window.
  
  There was nowhere
  
  
  trapped by the bitterness
  of something so beautiful.

• The grain of the wood runs
  up and down--left to
  right if you look at it from
  the side. Either way, the flow
  of it is rushing. There is
  a rock in the river--a
  gnarled knot redirecting.
  If someone were to stand the panel up,
  you wonder if it would all
  flow off.

• The thrones held
  our Royals--
  so chosen by their
  rose petal facades
  and heavy-metal
       extremities.

• There is more authenticity
       in the midnight kitchen
       floor,
  Than in any comforts of
       the warmest bed.