A Snowstorm of Paper
A snowstorm of paper at my feet:
It fell there from my scissors’ teeth
Last night, in a shower of inky sleet.
In piles on the floor lay my reams of wreckage
From being a writer.
I set the snowstorm aflame with a flick of my lighter.
All my ideas, fly free into the open air,
They flow with the smoke
And seep down into my mind again
Like recycled rain on fresh-smelling fields;
I dream of home.
more by Lëaf Ednïwinga
photograph by Angel Monsanto III
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