warm, bright words don't reside in your heart.
an ice wall blocks the way as they depart.
a shy, humble smile, "oh, it's no big deal,"
and those words are suddenly forced to kneel.
the icicles ***** your weary shoulders,
forming gashes, leaving you so much colder.

too much warmth? you burst into flames.
too little? you're frozen and maimed.
your hands, scarred and worn,
rub in vain, ready to mourn
as you look over the wall
to stare at the glow that enthralls.

Like a 21st century Snow White in her crystal casket,
You can find me in the frozen aisle, lying on a bed of ice cream tubs and chicken kievs,
Unconcious.

Slide the plexiglass door open,
Pick me up.
Do not worry if your freezer looks too small,
I can bend, I can fold.
You can consume me tonight, tomorrow, next week, six months from now and I won't expire.

It doesn't take too much to cook me,
Yet it shows you haven't done enough cooking in your life to know
That once meat is defrosted, you can't freeze it again and expect it to taste good.

The dry tundra calls to you
Whispering a phrase
A memory that flows
In between and through
The forest needle and pine
Something lies beyond
Far past the snow and sterile ice
Over the great mountains
The places of our birth
Nothing more than an inclination
That all we hope there to be
Has not yet been made know
That the secret hidden for ages
Has in turn hidden us within it
Preserving us in a way unseen
That when the time does come
In far flung ages hence
All things might be revealed
And the barren wastes
Turn to fruitful gardens

I dance with my bare feet, padding across the floor cracks
it was a good day as the winter's done
I was patiently waiting for the sun to rise.
You have been there and left frozen by
the time I came.

They are left haunted and nostalgic
I couldn't even took a direction without seeing the reflection of your gaze
anticipated by the prism of your paradise,
everybody fall in the thought of it is a rabbit hole; I don't want to dream about you anymore.

I burn
beautifully in the
fires of
vanity

I got lost
in my reflection
on the
frozen foods
doors

I was
displayed
with all the other
products
on ice:

three fifty-nine
for four
egg rolls

six twenty-nine
for frozen
bread dough

six ninety-nine
for wild
blueberries

and
superimposed
among them
my long mug
doing its best
to fit in

according to my
forehead
I am
three ninety-nine

but if you
ask my solar
plexus
I'm clearly marked
five fifty-nine

however,
my **** is apparently
on clearance
reduced by thirty
percent and
selling for
one dollar and
nineteen cents

and that old lady
at the end of the aisle
is eyeing
my biscuits
and rattling
her coin purse
like she's about to
roll
a yahtzee

my eyes dart
back to
my reflection
on the doors

what did I
come here
for again?