I went warm

And it dwells in my mind cold
 the rain died
The tomb saw its ribs
The shoulder of the road that did not carry a bouquet of roses
Can I reach me and prevent me from returning
I'm not alone
In the eye of my sorrows I am just one
I am not weak and these exiles are my tribe
I am my novel's lover and narrative story
I am the book that I sat in my hunger
Game Canon to break the dice breaks
Throw the winter between my cheeks and elbows
Stripped from antiquity and fractured flame fangs
Prairie trees smoke capitalist and communist
Silence broke the ribs inventory
And the cloud is a story of my departure