In the presence of stalking men I made diminuendo,
Grinding teeth in rain, and it came
a wind swarm from New Jersey with its capricious cache.
Bent willows near the East River
butterfly runners ducking for cover.
I wonder why theres no truck stop
between life and suicide, a beach
with anemometer to lounge and gauge
when its time to live or strip
like a jute before crossing over.
What fear ventures: limbo and lupine,
a lyric supine decision.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 28 | Spring 2010