Wonderlund Frost

March 19, 2014

Wanderlust, ice fractal halt my morning,
crack frozen foundation,
sunrise without fair warning.

What day am I ready for?

Sleeping houses await arrival,
furnaces chant on without,
dreaming people caught in denial.

Billow magic through glass windows,
slip me onto pavement,
crash my mind innuendos.

Quiet Our Town waits,
“And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars.”

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