Ice Shelf
It is there,
the beast
stretching
towards the horizon,
teeth exposed,
claws bared
the buttered
whelping coastline,
the sun—an oil
stain lying
across its surface,
it sinks and
shrinks these
glad-wrapped days
of petroleum fun.
If we could wrap
this shelf
of ice and keep it
coldly
generated, these
useless thoughts
and meaningless
images
from the warmth of
our
electronic streams
could
continue to hotly
flow.
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