You were made in March when the groundhogs sensed shadows
and the wine chilled itself in its glassy embrace
I was on whisky, watching late nights, and oh
The wires crossed and we did too near the fireplace

Winter shut the windows with its icy blast
and my rhythm quickened at Scene 4
where the door opened and the lady emerged
in a birthday suit and settled on the floor.

The cat scan showed your wiggly bits in May
and Momma smiled  about the vortex of the man I made
growing plump and rich in a warmer climate inside
For nine long months the case of scotch disappeared

as you grew stronger and bulged out beautifully.
You were born in December when the  lights went on
and Momma cuddled you chillfully!
In Jan you went to Nan. My impulses returned.

Feb came around rather quickly. A year gone
and a son born unblamed of the winter chill
or lusting whisky and late nights surging
outside/ inside wherever. I didn't name you
Jack Frost Junior for nothing.
There's a story behind every name, son!

Author Notes
Ha ha Ha.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

A reminder -

It is still winter,
We are still in the thick of it,
Chains and snowshoes
are still requisite,
Imbolc and Candlemas
are still to pass,
Groundhogs hibernate,
Tarns still as glass,
The tumbling finch song
has yet to be sung,
and even the false spring,
has not yet sprung.

So lie still a while longer,
Let the chill freeze you through,
Warmer days will return
in their own time,
And so will you.

I’m from rearranged furniture
I’m from “asleep in the bathtub”
I’m from biting hands over
store-bought candy.

I’m from vinyl-white-siding,
No better at keeping in heat
Than keeping out punks,
Four guinea pigs named
“Gamber,”
And a spotted rabbit.

From searching for answers
At the bottom of a bottle,
And not stopping, to think “maybe,”
When the answers aren’t there.

I’m from thrown phones, and
Broken Home,
And diseases they have
Yet to cure.
From layoffs, to layovers, to
A car, that careened
Down the street that I lay in,
And broke the door off its frame,
Leaving an impression on
Unshakable wood.

A Golden Orb-Weaver
On a storm-door handle,
Painted purple and black,
And a blood-curdling scream.
From a run to the backyard
And irrational fears
And the accidental rhyme
Of your mask-haunted dreams

I’m from people who loved me,
Without knowing how,
And people who couldn’t,
Without saying why.

I’m from loving her, a
Little too hard, that when we finally
Broke, We both emerged.
Scarred, and scared.
Groundhogs, and rabbits, and
Cats that weren’t mine.
Being told, at times,
Simultaneous, that I’m
Less than, yet
“Above grade level.”

I’m from baring the blunt-force,
To numbing it all out.
I’m from jazz, chess, and
Tonic water. I’m from
The Wolftones classy sound.
I’m from turning up the
Music so loud, that when
The world covered its ears,
I tried my best
To listen
.
I’m deciding to recreate the world
As I see fit.

I’m going to do something important,
 special,
Before I die. 


I want to invent. An

Existence I feel more content, in.

There’s no wagon to fall off.

Just looming things,

And avoidance. 


I’m deserving of the option to keep

Calling it as I see it. 

Advocating character development,
And suppressing my own hamartia.

Experimenting with sobriety,
And the ending of days.
Fighting off the Great Greyness, unstoppable,
Laying down land-mines, and
Bear-traps, on the
Terrain of Winter.

*I’m going to turn the music up
Louder still,
Until protest, drowned out,
Is inseparable, from
Cheering.

modern behemoth building of the sterile
herded human
              remains in sickness
compartmental

racked for our chemical curing
                          treat-meat

this building is only a single day of abandon
                   away from natural reclamation
taunts are made in the wings
the ants enter and leave freely
drain moth flies frequent most water sources in the building
rodents are at the door
rabbits and groundhogs tunnel in the lawns
hawks circle above using the buildings heat
           the wild world
        allowing our inclusion
   for at least one more hospital stay

In deep winter’s chill a brief nudge
gets groundhogs, with barely a grudge,
to predict the season,
but I ask, with good reason,
if they differ, who will be the judge?

I remember the summer holidays.
The heat intense without air conditioning.
Our days passed by on that old swing set,
weather beaten to a faded green.
We’d build houses out of boxes
our mother would never let us take home.
My sister called your home “the fun house”.
I would say “plastic fantastic”.
We’d build vintage dirt bikes in the garage,
eat apple pies for dessert,
and fall asleep beneath the peach tree.

I remember the escape,
when home was too violent.
You once told me you stopped drinking
so you could always be there when we needed you.
And you were.
To distract.
To listen.
To protect.

I remember the way you cradled me that night
as blood flowed from my wounds,
and the way you sat beside me in the hospital for hours
and never complained.
To distract.
To listen.
To understand.

I remember your chair
and the sadness I felt when we were not there.
My mind riddled with images of you in that house,
lonely and alone.
I knew your heart ached. I felt it.
I knew your smile a façade. I saw it.
Overworked for a life that never came to be.
Groundhogs day for 13 years.

I remember that shipping container in the driveway,
accumulating your possessions
one
    by
      one.
I remember the brisk autumn morning
driving you to the train station
with your makeshift bag from rope, tape and plastic.
The weight of the grief that fell from my eyes
too heavy to hold.
I remember how you walked away,
and never looked back.

Here, I stand in the wooden doorway
of the house now empty.
The memories pounding against the walls.
Your chair remains in the corner.
It still smells of you.
Words of love fall from my lips
and I close the door,
to what was,
and what is
no longer.

Standin' in a car garage
and a bearded guy is checkin the civ.
But I cant help but be glad
Cause its Groundhogs Day

The day that finally came
its come before and every year
leaves me with more questions than answers.

Its that shadow and all its mystery
With just a glimpse
were stuck in snow,
and that **** ****** saw it.

Sike its not even a ******
really, a man in a groundhog body.
A warrior,
poet,
and prophet
all wrapped in a bundle of fur
and a tail on his ****.

Punxsutawney Phil is my hero.

Hey little fiddle
I drink too much
You smoke too little

I met your mom
And your dad
Your little sister is EMOtional
Groundhogs day sad

I talk without reason
Left a bad man
For his treason

Let go of obscurity
To find the one thing I gotta be

Me

So hey little fiddle
Your moods swing from
Happy
Sad
Mad
American Rag-Tag
Glad

So play your notes
Take your tallies
I'll count votes

Hey little fiddle
Check out this finger
For you, right here
In the middle

Ode to bill
What a thrill
He makes me laugh till my voice is shrill
I don't need a happy pill
When his face is forcing mine to smile against my will.
Groundhogs day
What a play
On how I feel everyday
Repeating time until it strays
To be the same thing in every way.
What about bob?
Can't you see?
He's making me smirk at MY mental instability.
Baby steps
Fake Tourettes
Getting under someone's skin
And yet
Being loved by all the rest.
Who am I going to call
For the busting of ghosts?
I know a number to dispose
Bill has this **** on lock
As he sarcastically lifts his stock
Of zapping tools and his beige frock.
Zombieland
Of course he stands
Among the living and the ******.
Smoking up with strangers is grand
And replaying his films best moments.
In real life
He appears in random sight
Stealing fries and giving love advice.
Too careless to live up to the lime light
Using his fame to live an extraordinary life.
Oh bill Murray
You're a champ.
I hope to adopt your perspective rants
Make my mind go full blast
Of being the best at being lax.
Monotone and so relaxed
I'd buy him a shot if I had the chance
Tequila despite everyone else's request
Your bar tending skills are still the best.
Feeling laughter rise in my chest
Just keep doing what you do
No one else can contest.

So much anticipation
for the day we anticipate
After today we'll do the opposite of grieve
because guess what
it's groundhogs day eve

we are always on our way
we beat our chests,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

our groundhogs overstay
in cuckoo nests
we are always on our way

in metric evenings led astray,
most of us have been recessed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.

we are made to coil halfway,
beat those who love us best
we are always on our way.

we make time prepaid
and tendons compressed,
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day

we say
we are guests
we are always on our way
broken clocks, we are honest twice a day.