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Patient by the window
watching silent snow blow
choke back my desolation
wait for inspiration
like forgotten mail upon a shelf
no, that's not it,
I cycle through myself.

Peel away tough outer leaves
little meat, work to achieve
the softer bits, and deeper
like waking of a sleeper
slowly taking me apart
gathering dust in cupboards with the Delft-
no, not at all,
I cycle through myself.

Leaves softer and more tender
more dense as they defend the center
chilly in the winter of my soul
understanding, empathy, elusive goal
drear seeping to the heart of me
pumped through every artery
wind wails over foghorn
watch night turn to mournful morn
doubt my mental health
as I cycle through
I cycle through myself.

At the last, a knife to scrape away
soft fuzzy bits exposed to light of day
my heart, cut into pieces
hard won morsels on a dish
to be eaten dipped in butter if you wish
chew savory flavored wealth
I cycle through
I cycle through
I cycle through myself.

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The following comments are for "Winter Thistle"
by Cybele

Thank you, Claire
You give me always the sweetest comments. I've been loving your Exposed! interviews, thanks for them. Would you do me the HUGE favor of looking at 'Mother'? No one has anything to say about that one, it seems.

I had a dry spell, poetically speaking, when I was working on Watergate! But I'm back now and happy to be here.



( Posted by: cybele [Member] On: May 2, 2004 )

a very nice piece

Cybele, I've read this three or four times since you posted it, and always felt struck by your refrain, but lost in your descriptions.

I got it this time. Fragile music, beautifully sung.


( Posted by: johnlibertus [Member] On: June 6, 2004 )

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