Street snow

It’s a day where I’m ready to be at home

Move, move, I say, but my bright bright open shutters

and snowflakes say stay, stay

It’s a day where you’re obliged to listen to

whatever 1-2 1-2 1-2-3-4 guitar strings and sad voice

makes you feel a little bit more like the slow deer

that you want to be but are not.

And the tears of a fellow crane

match the powder falling down onto branches

so they look like they are covered in frosting.

It’s another day

And the thoughts that ate your inside and dripped into your veins

along with the sharp pang of whiskey

or just coke

Because sometimes it’s not the Hemingway alcohol that will do anything

for your sad soul.

It’s anything

like a soda, a smile, a bartending friend, a friend needing help

You want anything

You grasp at everything in the hopes that eventually one of those things

will show you why you wake up

roll your sleeves twice

why you laugh

why you smile

why you apologize

why you still have a heart.

But the thoughts do not do that anymore.

The snow is your eyes and the storm means nothing bad.

It’s a day where the light and the bright says yes to your mind

yes you can think.

You can think and no longer fear

the veil and the drip of the dark deep.

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