Shattered Snowflakes

Crackling on the fringe of breaking

Can not think of all the misplaced messages taking

Tangents like breaks in the pavement

Fissures for speed bumps, caverns for back shoves

Like missiles launched from behind, exploding at my weakest time

My shields are drained so low the slightest blow could knock me out

For the longest count of days mixed up in this vision of

White bread ignorance red blood bled over skin

Like vampire tears off huddled in some sequestered corner

Abandoning sunlight for starvation of a core wasting away

Day after day of mirror-only sight, explanations

Shivering for daylight like some medicine of afterthoughts

Bottled up in a winery for soured grapes and maple leaves

Maybe December is coming and I don’t want the trees

To shed their clothing standing naked for all to see

Pale sap dripping from an aperture sticky and as open as

The naked city bustling with faces like snowflakes coming

With the light attached like burned up match sticks

All taken up, stories told and strewn about

The sidewalk like pick up sticks in red, blue and green

From frosted faces sticking up my scene

Where can I have a side to state my peace within the crease?

Of shedding leaves rumbling with tumble-weed speed

Bowling balls of clogged up emotional drain pipes

Flung like Rochambeau finding logic in the inane

Is this any way to live like a fortress in Maine?

With icicles growing like whiskers on the border of my home

Trickling for questions to try on new outfits for skinny dipping in thirty below

Exposed like shattered crystals scattered across the sidewalk

Frost broken for heated steps and back tracking regrets

Of knowing there is no knowing of all the traps of spring secretly growing

Of ice-cold roots and stolen bamboo forests where pandas broke through

To run around the back yard like super heroes on patrol in magic unfurled

Like a flag of then and now and I don’t know how

To make a painted bear fly with her and I, to tell her

I can not make it change and Anna begins to see

This fractured part of me trying to hang on by the threads

Of ripped clothing just to pray it mends

Moving me like a satellite of what I might

Have been and then it disappears with the rotation

And I can not mention the turning planet like a magnet of attrition

It is coming and I can not replace what is missing

Only add to a difference that no one wants except the Mrs.