I never cared much for
politics or
       the jam between my toes
       but I guess it keeps me
company
       when winter loves
December and
       my feet sweat pushpins
       I’ll sometimes catch
snowflakes on
       my tongue but who really cares
       I’ve always suffered from
seasonal depression
       but I think it’s just an
excuse
       to tell people I hate them
or to count
       fingernail clippings in the sink
       Maybe I have a snow globe
for a skull
       thawed out and marinating
in a pool of
       whiskey hung over
       a bucket to conjure
Flies
       or was it Spiders harvesting
my insides
       I pray they lay eggs in my
lungs
       so when I speak, someone will listen
       Spiders to keep me company at night
when the lights turn off
       to eat the toe jam I’ve collected in
mason jars
       but the sound of a match striking
always scares them off
       so I light a cigarette to
summon my Demons
       Because maybe they will be my friends
       But I plan on dying alone
with my whiskey and Flies.