Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

ursus maritimus


Her head low

and eyes

fixed on mine.

Loping from floe


to sea to dolerite

schist; crackling

on the lime

rich shore;


following stale

musk. Per shakes

my shoulder

and readies his

Ruger. ‘We should

leave’ he says

and I become

aware that we


are being




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This entry was posted on December 9, 2017 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , .
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