“This night, the next night, and all nights after that”

Each is a cackling cord
of frozen river water, cinched
between tiny blood vessels that twine and wind
into solid, straight rope;
Crackling like a man crunching rocks and glass,
while the same man swings from it, wildly—
and violently— like twisted silhouettes of
prehistoric buffalo jumps at dawn.
This night, the next night, and every one that follows;

Each night
falls in line
like wild
buffalo
coiling
over
cliffs
until
clocks
strike six.

narrative poem written on 01-01-2011 by: on mattkane.com
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