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climate 1.3

Climate poems

By River JoyPublished 3 months ago 1 min read
River Dougherty 2022

january first two thousand twenty three

fifty degrees


fog rolls heavy over the mountains

whatever is growing

on that tree is the wrong color

smells like rotting leaves

fall decomposition

out from under the ice

the wind, tamed

no longer cruel slicing through layers of clothes


late or not coming this year

i go about my day

we go about our days

social commentary

About the Creator

River Joy

I make things with paint and words and light. I was once described as an asshole with Mr. Rodgers vibes.

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