and now, the weather

blocks of ice/concrete shoes, i haunt these halls with rainwater in place of marrow weighing down my bones, waterlogged wings, sinking/falling, if icarus had the gall to dream, if icarus and daedalus were one in the same, is it self sabotage if i never meant it? troubled eye contact and rotting teeth, its hard to believe in the thaw/sun/wax when the frost brings such comfort, though shallow, though fragile, though perilous, though delicate, though taut. one must imagine the fall as a relief.

signing off, nurse j