Throw it on the Snow Pile

Throw it on the Snow Pile

More flailing snow,
more empty trees,
more scarring cold,
shaking knees.

Another morning coffee spike,
another jolt to help me write.
Another lonesome mountain view,
another day with too little you.

A million more unique snowflakes.
A few more inches, a few more feet.
At least one more heartache.

Now falling faster, falling thicker–
birchtree, maple, pine– wicker,
some long forgotten spider’s web,
left to ebb in the wind.

The deck becoming whiter,
the sky becoming blacker;
the page becoming more full,
my cares, coming thicker.

And now onset my manic joy–
delight, euphoria, though hollow and trite.
Fifteen seconds over in,
slicing back to loss again.

Relentlessly, the snow pounds down,
covering the ground.
I pour into my notebook,
without a sound.



more fevered




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