Jesse Snyder // LOON

Gazing out the window,

into the jet-black darkness

the barren trees,

silent, scary, yet afraid.

 

Afraid like

the ski lifts,

dangling from the shaking cable-line

frozen with icicles,

icicles

that could shred through

the snowmen looking riders

with all their layers

and pierce their soul.

 

The few lights,

glaring you down like the angry teacher.

That stare,

that freezes your body, stone cold,

like the chilling wind

screaming,

through your body

like ski’s

carving through

the freshly fallen

snow.

 

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