Poetry



     

Sam Silva

       
       

WINTER CRUCIFIXIONS



All scent of summer gone
...frostbitten shivers sigh this thing
written in blood on a winter lawn

this note!
this mote!
this ruined pawn!,
naked and frozen
ruined and stiff

...oh cold cold jazz!
to you I sing
with the snot of its song
on a ruined lip.