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Fluffy Widow-maker

Fluffy widow-maker
squatting on the ridge,
go heavy on the rails.
Rot quickly and let us breath
free, while we are still standing.

Bone white lips
tolerant of a tighter lockdown,
share sloppy snow kisses,
transforming all branches to birch
waiting to crack temperamentally
on our heads.

Her smile, polar bear smooth,
frightened the twisted petioles
daring to dangle outside of
their new diameter.
Silver diamond marks
like veering sleigh tracks,
dwarfed and bedraggled.
Her children shedding bark.

They say the tiny flakes
are the real monsters,
painted white to minimize
disease.
Icicle tickles
dying in daylight, still
beats the sun damage, fungi
and careless cracks that often kill.

K.Hartless

Yardsale of Thoughts
khartless.com

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