jayivan

Cold night, cold morning,
The light aslant from cracked blinds,
Dust free and drifting

I walk
with the sun in my eyes
snow melt
drips from awnings
passerbys pass by
hunched against the cold
I hear it will warm
as soon as today

Collisions with Planet Melancholia
Return and retourne and return
The white flash
Ushers in death and dusted rebirth.

I blink. An illusion.
Time to consume. Things to buy. Things to fix.

Time goes nowhere, hastily,
Chucking its waxed-paper dolls from windows rolled down just enough to press the detritus into the expanse of gravel and dried weed, where prairie dogs howl silent in snow dappled fields.

The white flash.

Ice on the windshield
Frost wrapping the steering wheel
Sad songs on cold days

Leave it be
This body, your body.
A matchbox flipping round the edge of a subway drain.

Then you said
you said
you said

I don’t know myself no more

The struggle angers.
We rise spent and hoarse
From well-meant well-meanings

southern sun, warm me:
winter’s waiting in the winds
to frost the house white