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Poem	ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place space as keys that turn in tight, trigger pain of situations where we move ever so slowly so gently into time — traced agony the bright turning of imagination so slowly grooved through revolving doors, opening up to enter mountains where spirits walk voices, ever so slowly swept by cold, breathing fire as these elliptical moments of illusion link fragile loves sunk deep in snows as footprints the voice prints cold black gesticulations bone bare voices chewed skeletal choices in fangs of piranha gales spewing out slivers of raucous laughter glinting bright as hard polished silver nails
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