I walk the dusky land of embittered snow; scattered like tear dust upon this barren landscape, wind whipping white about me, and eyes the only dark spot in this storm. I walk across the winter land as if warm, the cold doesn’t touch me. The cold feel like home hearth. And when I fall in the embrace of the grateful ground, I scatter the snow, like confetti, or feathers, and they bloom out about me like bomb smoke. And I am still warm.

Do you taste it yet? The taste of the warm snow in your mouth? Is the nonsense finally making sense, or do you sense but inanity and pride? I am pride. I am pride and prejudice against the world made of consequential things like mice wings and catalogs about blogs and whining sugar pane. And among the fluff of snow like glitter I am home among the wide eyed litter of human smiles and plushies wiles and know there is nothing more important than this. This, this kiss of death a brush your breath. Kiss me. Kill logic. Embrace the strange.

And when you are done, do it again. And you shall never be the same. And I shall never be the same. For when you do it again, nothing and everything will change.


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