The News

in the subterranean depths
of this close-fitting winter
its weak mercury
unable to push itself
up against each marking
in the glass sepulchre

death multiplies
it lies in wait beneath
your blank-faced words
silent and expectant
the shiny two-tone shoes
you bought last week
the empty envelopes
lying quiescent on the table
the shadow of water
trickling down
a shower curtain

there you are
standing helplessly before
the unfolding seconds
of this interminable
breathing in
out

By Joanne Leow

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