When the blizzard came raking it’s
fingernails across the windows
and compacting the world into a
microcosm of prisimic crystal caves;
the heater, rust water seeping with a
wheezing sigh – bled out.
You swiped it’s
pipes with your crooked finger to clear
any obstructions and chest pump
compressed it back to life. I don’t
think it appreciated it.
For my friend Jessie who challenged my thoughts on grey days today.
Wool
Grey skies wrap
a blanket shoulder draped – Day.
Microscoping space-air-time
Into a manageable cocoon.
The fat – bottomed moon appears a
great slow blinking eye, lid
descending grace leaving
a white fringe eyelash coyness
as the clouds reform a homemade
woolen pirate patch blankly eyeing
this metamorphosing world.
tamingthemilemonster 