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Dear Ted,


Dear Ted, hello.

I find myself laid out before the horn of morning–  

I last wrote from the grey and yet

my hands shake still. The dew

holds a memory of frost yet

I wander ever onwards.


Dear Ted,

I have been diving again. I chased

a strange gossamer worm

to the bottom of the world.

It taught me nothing.

It made me afraid.


Dear Ted,

Do not worry. I have said it before

but I mean it this time. There is a cliff

with a giant below. His eyes are open

but mine are too; I know his name.  


Dear Ted,

I became lost somewhere in the whirl of it–  

a thousand channels blaring and the men

in my mind cannot handle the traffic.

I am laid out upon the tarmac as the sun rises

and the sky is bruised by fire.


Dear Ted, hello


Dear Ted, I am fine. Thank you.

I have left the grey and the sky

spreads open before me in shades

of pink and gold. My fingertips

are frostbit; my core is filled with fire.

Published inPoetry

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