The Working Order of Things

Angles meet angles not mattering
The wind fills with ice
Stinging the bare skin where sleeves rise
Hoodies blow aside
I am a step to the left of myself
Not able to correct knowing this
I’ve learned to double-knot my boots
For a confusing walk from the front door to my car
Where things slam suddenly to center
Once the door has shut

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About Me

A poet-chef living in Denver, Co. I use the orange Aquafresh toothpaste, off brand mouthwash, and those little floss picks.

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