that road the mud
mixed with the snow
is sweet as Oreos.  Your hands
are so discolored you can’t tell

black from yellowed. The air
smells of cough syrup. And your feet
****. The blisters sharp as darts. Your
glasses are grey. A lifeless ball of clay

you are. You dig a hole to see
if men live lower than you. If
your shoes are a roof. Your body
a smoking stack of a hundred proof.