Rooftop Poetry

Is writing poems
Upon the roof
Way too much
On frozen days
Like today
Cold wind
Cuts across my fingers
Chills my shoulders
Numbs my feet
While I pace
Across the roof
In the warming sun
Typing out words
Through puffs of white breath
It’s cold out
And I want to be done
But I’m not finished
Not by a long-shot
So I must enjoy
I must live
I must write
Through the cold
At least a few days longer
Until goals have been reached
Or my fingers fall off

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