Filth and January's Lost

April Fox
around the dark grey simmered-down
edges of the day there is a pall that
tries to hide the time we stole
there is no way to give it back, i keep it
hidden in my desk drawer with the rose petals and candle wax and shiny things
i found along the road

your voice is like a scar i run my fingers over absently
the kind you don't remember
getting, how you patched it up and kept it clean
until it healed

it wakes me up
and then it talks me back to sleep

january is the hell the christians wish they could have made
winter is the devil they despise
under all the flaccid rhetoric, the tales and the lies
they don't know this little atheist
knows more of sin than they

watching snowfall out the window
watching headlights flashing by
below, i love the interstate at night
my lullaby of ice and filth
driving on it makes me want to crash

in the springtime there is ever, there is solace in the way
the sunlight captures things and holds them
fragile sweet

in my little palm, a promise
grass and flowers and a nap
close it tight
hang on fierce protective
try to sleep
try to make it through.

Published by April Fox

When she isn't writing for sites like livestrong and typef, April can usually be found with her head in a book, lying in the sun blowing bubbles, or perched near the stage listening to music and trying to av...  View profile

3 Comments

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  • Vince Britton9/11/2011

    Seems you've made it

  • April Fox1/17/2011

    :) thank you.

  • Sana Austin1/16/2011

    This is beautiful April!

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