you. you are staining the chill and everything lanterns you to its ice.
think of drills, and more silvery blood in a glacier’s wiry surf.
are you a snail in your green green anorak? how can i coax out your head..
vacant-man in there, trying to sleep. the poems cocooned beyond us _
a light crash of decades, like an addiction with a triple chain-ring pulse. let me look in your
back-pack, let me freeze the snowdrift inside.
i want to throw the, ‘this’ at you, but hold you like a shell,
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