Isobaric by RC deWinter

Isobaric

poetry by RC deWinter

The incremental game is growing old. I cannot breathe abstractly anymore and winter nights bring nothing but the cold, all promises abandoned at the door.

I cannot breathe abstractly anymore, hemmed in a space too small in which to live, all promises abandoned at the door –too much for me to rescue or forgive.

Hemmed in a space too small in which to live I feed on memories that daily dim, too much for me to rescue or forgive. I am a chorister without a hymn.

I feed on memories that daily dim, and winter nights bring nothing but the cold. I am a chorister without a hymn –the incremental game is growing old.

27