just one on your tongue. They
fall everywhere. They fall on
your hair and turn it to white. They
fall on Red Square and leave it

stark as the flights. They sit on your
fence and ride up the poles like big fat
rolls of a barbary night. They spread
themselves out far and wide. They’re

shutting down cities. And people have
died. And now people are scared to
leave. They believe anything you tell
them. I’m not saying it is isn’t so. But I
won’t run from a flake of snow.