winterA Poem by Lucas Ings
Birthed in a blizzard of ashphalt and smoke stains.
The kind that stinks. The kind that reeks. The kind that reaps fields far greater than it can sow. The kind of blizzard that's still burning somewhere. © 2018 Lucas Ings |
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Added on March 29, 2018 Last Updated on March 29, 2018 Author
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