Leveler Poetry Journal
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Some Notes Beginning With Winter

The winter

inclined to speak loudest

in a heated room

at 5am

with vague sleep-shapes

painting the walls

like demons

with teeth

but no jaw strength,

filtering as always

at 5am

a complex reality

through a single

sleepless eye

like drinking

an ocean

from a fast-food straw.


The winter

draws nearer her sex

like an overripe fruit

to my grass


that always anticipates

in these late months

the body’s need for warmth

and gravity’s misinterpreted laws.


The winter

is a blind mother

stumbling over

the corpses of her children,

the crackling

and popping of skulls

and ribs underfoot.

She’s clinging to the balustrade

for balance

the entire length

of a never-ending river

she knows only as ice.



The winter

places its ear to my chest.

Then to hers.

Then its own.

And I ask aloud

to the morning

“are there nuances

to our wailings?”

John Sibley Williams