they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

this season.

i'm not sure i like
this winter.
ice-packed streets,
broken branches littering sidewalks,
trees begging for a new jacket -
a bright green, delicate garment
to clothe their nakedness...
hiding it
from a world that's been cold
for too long.

a world that's full of
woollen swathed, covered faces
with only eyes exposed -
beacons of life that exist above
scarves swishing in the negative windchills
and
hands cloaked in leather.

eyes that look up at the branches cracking in the wind
- straining to glimpse signs of life
while feet remain stuffed inside fuzzy boots
and jean cuffs continue to be stained with salt -
residue.

the dirt of the season.

1 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home