Black Ice Brush

Concrete ground
Cracks and shifts
Like the plates
Of the world
That quake and make
The interred whirl

The frozen

Invisible ice
Invulerable twice
Can knock you down
Without a fight

Morning sun melts
Snow in the boughs
To drip like broken
Taps made by icicles

They make slack and
Dissatisfact with
The heat now fracturing
Cold it once captured

Black gravel welded
Together by friction
And liquefying into oils
To soak the constriction

Breakage now
Dislocation now
And the broken oils
Come together

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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