Extinction by Rebecca Morgan Frank

We were tied to the weather.
Outside, houses turned their backs to the wind.
The dead sipped what was left from the ground.
The snowcover turned stale, darkened.
There was nothing left to discuss.

We were game heads, stares fixed,
tongues thick and permanent
in my molded gape, your grimace.
We couldn’t taste anything.
The carpet beetles were eating us alive.

From: http://diodepoetry.com/v6n3/content/frank_rm.html

Date: 2013

By: Rebecca Morgan Frank (19??- )

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