Hour of the Wolf (II)
No, I do not want the pain.
I cross my legs
Inside my arm
a night moves, glowing
Windows pale in stacked cubes.
Apartment blocks
shift into geometry –
Braque in the dark –
across the sleepless world
Hour of the wolf
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-03-03 at 12:22
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