Can't stop picking up sticks. His heater belches steam Like the plaid man, Tries to shake off the snow, White, yellow-white snow. Rain drops which, for a moment, Wanted to take their time Coming down. Up close, they fall lightly, Gentle and slow, But focus on the distance The fall is a torrent, like rain. Whether near or far, The other side of the glass Is silent.
Snow ought to be.
When I have to turn to work. Guitar case latch closed. Tear stained pillow. Here the love is most intense The betrayal its deepest. Yes, I suppose it was a very good deal.