bitter month,
bitters in the mouth,
bitters all over the world
snow is Campari red

burning alive,
dying while flying
or just train-commuting home,
or even but taxiing home,
this month racks up ruin,
like keeping score at bowling,
Strike!
spare no one anywhere
this month is more cruel,
for its nearness to spring,
but offering no hope, no buds,
just random mayhem

slipped on the ice in the dessert
burning ice,
I hate this month
red, black snow
and no summer visions
only cold bitters