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Poetic Philosophy Ryder

Veins

The quill drips

black ink onto the letter

addressed to my friend–

she is gone to Vienna.

 

Reddened leaves crackle

underfoot

whose veins are varicose

as hers were

in winter and

sometimes

in summer–

 

but

combustion is loud

above the trees, burning

louder than the wind’s

bluegrey frolic.

By Ryder

I am a writer, furniture designer and a musician. I enjoy synthesizing information because it helps me (and hopefully others) understand subjects in a systematic way.

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