I saw you in winter,
and thought of tree branches feathered by starlight in poorly lit neighborhoods. A hearth where the more honest parts of myself, I am bared fetal, warmed upon, welcomed.

I saw you in spring,
and thought of long drives in the countryside in the rain. Ice cream melting from our chins dancing petrichor upon our toes, kissing by the sea shore.

I saw you in summer,
and thought of sleepy boathouses, uncovering ancient childhood treasures in the woods. A secret lake somewhere, the sky's reflection in promise. Windy hilltops upon which to blame each other for the sunrise.

I saw you in autumn,
and thought of scarfs and cafes, city streets and sunsets where we watched each others breath escape. Apartment staircases where windchill hibernates, the world slowing down around us from your window.

The first time I saw You, I thought to myself, "I could live there."

Sunday sun-dazed steamy sweet haze
of our warm breath coats the icy
window panes the sky shines bluer
than our fingers in the snow so
sleep on dreamer while we wait for
summer days to breathe again

Dear Chicago
I have known you since birth
Was placed on this earth at the corner of belmont and clarke
Between thrift shops and sports bars
Amidst high rises and churches
At introduction was enamoured
Fell in love at first sight
Fell in love with your capacity
Your buildings
And skyline
Fell in love
With the way the pier's ferris wheel
Glows against lake michigan
How I felt invicible
The first time I ever rode it
A tourist attraction to say the least
But to me, has always been more
Has always been comforting
I claim to hate the cold
But the snow blanketing the trees in the winter time
Is a beauty unlike any other
Is painstakingly unbearable in it's temperature
But worth it
Worth the below zero windchill
Worth the frostbitten hands and hour long commutes
The weather has yet to prevent celebration
Couples bond over frozen lips with kisses and hot chocolate
Skates click against glass ice in Millenium park
I have always thought
That the city looks best dressed in christmas
In street lights
In holiday
In togetherness
In road rage turned blessing
It is hardest to hate what is shared
And freezing cold has a way of providing unity
As does autumn
How nothing has ever been more breathtaking
Than how leaves make death look graceful
How they make fifteenth story falls seem desirable
Something about the air
Feels different in the fall
But regardless of season
There is always warmth in the food
In the deep dish pizza that settles at the bottom of hungry stomachs
In the hotdogs that cannot be imitated in any other town
I have noticed
That some things can not be replaced
And this city
That I have grown up loving
Is not one that deserves to be changed
But still
Is imperfect
Is molding
Growing in ways more negative than good
In ways unwanted
Gang violence is no longer a rarity
Earning us a top spot on the list of high ****** rates
It seems today
That gunshots and sirens
Are the only music to be heard in the streets
That the jazz born here decades ago no longer plays
Only silent cry of mother losing child
Only unanswered prayer
Reports of daily shootings have become routine
Safety is not one of the stronget attributes
And a girl like me
Would be unable to securely navigate the streets on her own
Survive in this community turned war zone
Chicago
I have loved you
For as long as I have known what love is
I have painted picture after picture of you
Admiring your intricate details
Your originality
Your parts that can not be found any place else
But there are flaws
That have forced me to leave
Have driven me thousands of miles away
You must understand
That I needed someplace
That could offer me protection when alone
Chicago
I may not be in your arms
But you will always
Hold a place
In my heart
You will always
Be home.

concrete slams across my shoulder blades as you press your body against mine
an outside invasion;
oppression
my hands climb to my lips warding off the gin and wine of your
kiss
it poisons me as you reach to grab my flesh

I should’ve turned to coffee and water;
velvet nights of smooth moonlight and a bitter windchill
God whispered warnings of you
across my thighs, near your neck
gin and wine

it’s you and me, mixing liquor with jealousy
fabricated curls and a whitened smile
you stand towering over me
asserting deceitful dominance at every chance
yet darling,
I’m

She always held herself with the dignity of having a thousand masterpieces hanging from her lips but She never let me stand close enough to hear them
She was good at speaking from a safe distance like that

And as I stood with my toes curled over the edge of loving, she peered down the cliff and asked me if the fall was worth the raging waters
She tried to teach me the difference between love affair and romance, unzipping each word telling me  how some lies are still worth believing, when the truth is still to bitter to swallow whole.

She told me how the windchill can steal all the warmth right out of you, how it even leaves your mouth shivering and empty

I have written enough about it now to know you can see it in someones hands
I have written enough about it now to know you can taste it on someones words
And we stood there on that cliff until the whisper of dusk finally left our lips and my fingers began to turn blue

On the nights I woke up empty, she told me that the darkness swallows up light without even asking its name so don't you dare expect a roll call now. There is no welcome mat outside of 3am but we laid outside the door anyways and she let the sky paint me pictures

On the nights I woke up cold, she reminded me that hands are only as good as what you choose to hold on to, she always said there was some kind of art into weaving your hands into somebody else's. It was the one thing we agreed on.

She said I had a shimmer she couldnt trust just yet but on the night I couldn't read poetry she let me sit next her, she told me that the thing about people and metaphors is that we all need at little editing
and we could all use a little bit more work.

if I was a light switch
would you leave me on
to always feel this way
to always feel as if I do not matter
because the sun is wandering and that is leaving me alone
with nothing but windchill to keep my company
and that is okay
I am okay with that
because it means
I can get closer
to the rain.

Winter's here
and they say it's ******* cold
they slip and fall on ice
curse the slush under their tires
windchill's reaching zero
they call in sick
lie to lie in bed and avoid the chill

But it's not so bad
I went for a run today
never falling
barely feeling the burn
mind sharp as the ice
clean as the fresh snow

It's not ******* cold
it's crisp

past:

step off the diving board. crest the currents. close your eyes and take a leap of faith. the unknown is not as sinister as it seems.

and when the windchill of disappointments bite down to the bone, remember
there is more to life than this.

future:

pause and breathe (in, out, in). cast your gaze on the sunbeams above. fall into the valleys of despair. when do we stop learning? we never really do.

and when the swell of nostalgia sweeps over you and wrings the air from your lungs, remember
the only easy day was yesterday.

present:

run. stay still. pace yourself. go breakneck. hold your tongue. spill the words. listen. speak. close your eyes. see the world.

and when the world is consumed by nothing but the now, remember
the breakers crash against the shore and the sand slips through your fingers-
every moment has its end.
and never are we ready for the beginning.

Dainty snowflakes dance down from the sky, a concoction of whimsy and nostalgia.
I see your face in the flurry, the nippy chill numbing my senses and bringing me back to the days we first met.
I remember the first day I kissed you, our lips ridden with nicotine and nervousness.
It took about two weeks for me to muster up the courage to kiss you, for our mouths to speak to eachother, without words.
The sensation of flesh against flesh, wrapped in eachother, and the fireworks I felt in that moment remind me of the windchill, sending shivers down my spine, igniting goosebumps as though you had pushed down on a TNT trigger, hidden inside of me.
I remember how I had pulled away from our embrace, hid my face in the folds of your flannel out of fear of being rejected- giggling and apologizing for the sloppiness of my love.
You wrapped me up in your arms, quieting my apologies, warmth radiating off of you like a space heater- a warmth I knew I could never resist ever again from that moment on.
Because of you, I've learned to love winter, almost as much as I love you.

flashes of your smile
I'm growing less bitter
this familiar mile
is now littered with her

I don't know how
to kiss your lips
I need it now at a
moment like this

I need your beauty
beside me
I need to erase
my shame

a windchill a
sun beam
there saying
my name

nature is green
with envy of thee
the falling leaves
are of my own body

in tow of
the spirit that
has now
known yours

found hidden beaches
felt the snow storms

I'm willing to learn the
things you want me to

if that's now what it
takes to get
to you

I've since learned new
things, though my
pride still burns

it's with unfamiliar
brightness that
my heart now
yearns

I went to the beach to get away.
My tears followed, though stunted
by the windchill.

I gazed out at the fleeting waves,
and wanted to walk behind them
until we were one.

The stars warned me to sit,
to watch safely from the shore.
I sadly obliged.

A few burst of light captured
my weary eyes in the sky.
Shooting stars.

I closed my eyes with a wish,
over and over again until my tears
matched the stars.

I only want one thing in this life.
If I cannot have it, the stars will acknowledge
my detour through death.

I hate winter. All my friends tell me it's great,
But they all get to sleep inside when the windchill is 12 below.
I guess I'm technically inside -
The shelter room is drafty and the heat doesn't work very well,
Sputtering and hissing like the alley cats
Behind the building
We don't have nearly enough blankets.
Just once this winter I want to not be
Cold.
Wherever I go out the air seeps through a second hand coat,
Feeling ***** and gray against my skin.
*****, dingy, cold
Basically describes me, my mom, the sidewalks, the weather, the city, my life.
I've only ever celebrated Christmas
With others who have lost their way, their homes.
Never the warm family event I know is right.
All the people at school love Christmas -
Their families all have enough money to buy gifts for them.
My mom asked what I wanted,
And I knew she didn't really want me to answer but I couldn't help it
"A phone-" I blurted out, before I could stop myself.
I almost cried when I saw the look on her face
Defeated, deflated, like someone had
Stripped away all pretenses of
Un-reality
She wanted to get me a new phone, I could see it in her eyes
But I'd also seen the bills this month.
There was no way that was happening.
"Look, Mom, I was just joking.
I don't need anything, the important thing is for the two of us to just be a family."
I forced a smile, seeing the lines around her mouth
Sag with relief.
She didn't know that all the girls at school had new phones
And new clothes
And perfect hair
And high end purses
And cars and Christmas tree and coats.
And they're not cold.
I hate going shopping with my mom
When we get to the checkout counter she has to pull out our food stamps and
Bridge cards and crumpled ones and
Fives to pay for scuffed hand shoes
And ugly sweaters.
I know she's doing the best she can but I always act like
I don't know her.  
Being poor is embarrassing,
A red stain rising to my cheeks that doesn't make me feel any warmer.
I pretend I don't care that the other people in the line
Stare,
Impatiently tapping their feet when
She drops her change
Morse code messages to 'get back to the streets, the shelter, to wherever you came from
What did you do to end up like this?'
You know, I got asked to homecoming this year. But I had to lie and say my dad was really sick and I had to stay home.
I don't even have a dad!
But I knew we didn't have money for the tickets, let alone a dress or boutonnière.
I just want to feel normal for once.
I want to be warm and comfortable
And feel like someone else loves me.
Have some new clothes for once.
New boots, a new hat...
It's okay though, really. I've survived all the winters before this.
It's just so hard, you know? When I know that I'm different, that my family is different.
You might be able to lie to a 7 year old, but I know that being homeless is
Different.
Bad.
Cold.

i felt your eyes
across the room.
you were a perfect storm,
contained
within a dress shirt, and vest.
you were the epitome
of a monday morning
in the middle of winter,
your eyes spoke of
harsh cold, and windchill,
not quite ready
to emerge and go back to people.
but only i know how much you crave interaction.
you just avoid it from me.

|m.s.

I'd like to break both of my elbows
So that I can point out to you
All of the places that I'd rather be
Than here

This tacky patterned wallpaper
Reminds me of the past and how
Even with repetition
There was always something new to see

But the other room is white
And it reminds me of now
Where there's nothing in sight
No matter how hard you look

I am growing tired
And I no longer desire to be "graced"
With the burden of oxygen
Breathing only makes me more tired

People with temporary troubles **** themselves
So what if I am permanently ****** up?
It feels a little bit warmer today
But the windchill is still -25 degrees
So I think I will stay inside

2/3/2015

funny what people remember
chainsmoke Marlboro in the Mitsubishi
3°f windchill parking lot Princeton waitin’
killin’ some time last day of January

More than a year since we met? Really?
Pull on the black n mild
I stubbed my cigarette
yeah really
Time flies when you’re having fun!
Well…. arguably- i want to say but i don't

Remember that time we stayed up almost all night talking? You’re a smart kid
Of course I remember.
Where was my man that day?

I know where he is now, but back then when things were
all wholehearted I am shocked and appalled to see I don’t remember!
must’ve been a dry spell huh?

anyways, i smile and realize the car's time's off
joke like what a good friend
sing along to some songs and

now i'm back where i started walking to campus.

It’s a dull woollen grey sweater day
Where the birds too have withdrawn their song
and tucked their wings in for winters chill fingers
that will reach out and capture their whistling tunes.
Dropping pleasantries on the big city boulevards
Hidden from prying eyes, windows shut tight
like mouths with no words left.

Winter comes suddenly.
With no pamphlets announcing a matinee
show of ballet beauties or bronzed horsemen
riding in the sultry sun on careless beachfront.
That shuffle sand and people into shady nooks
and under trees.
Winter does the opposite.

Each evening from now winter will keep the refrigerator door
open for chilled soups  to warm up to toasted breads
to bring a summer inside ourselves with its comfort.

Of course the weathermen will wander of course
talking up storms and snowfalls, ice and wind sleet
and temperature drops to keep the moods down
locked and lifeless, now waiting for summer to come around.

The garden will go limp with excuses
shedding its autumn floral displays
and standing bare and naked before
the mirror of winters reflection.

As each day passes, the mood will dampen down
and slink into caves of warm pockets.
We go from room to room
aimlessly looking out the snowy mountains
Wearing their white  skull caps like chinese market gardeners
waiting to harvest
the last fading greenery around.
Soon the snow will
capture the mountain ranges
and spread its feathery fishnet sheets
all the way down to the valleys.

This is it. The conquest of windchill against a blazing summer
Is complete. Down at the door level of temperatures
it feels unique to be so isolated and lonely.

The sun does come out but it acts s subdued and
lukewarm- not basking, not bright,
just staying for a short while each
day and leaving even before dusk comes rapidly,
never overstaying the welcome.
Author Notes

The seasons now change in New Zealand. Only yesterday it was summer filled with so many pleasant activities. Autumn has its own language of colours, but winter rolls in and rocks, drawing us into ourselves and planning for next summer. It is a warm winter now.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

i want to be a great poem on the book of this world and i want seaside and sunshine and less of this melancholy because the earth is spinning way too fast and i'm starting to feel it in my brain, my brain is the sun and it's burning through and now i'm on fire and the fire will eat me alive

like you ate me alive in the shadow of your house on that cold winter day, you swallowed me up like a shark in the ocean and your hands were cold and your lips were cold and my body was cold it was all so cold because winter was coming from inside of me and it wasn't a season it was just me

being a season can change you, and since i wasn't summer i wasn't loved by children or school kids, i was death and i was snowdrifts and 9 am phone calls of car crashes from ice, i was wet that chilled your bones and put all of your fires out and i was there in the frost and windchill of 60 miles per hour

you drove me in your car to the hospital faster than 60 miles per hour that one day when i took too many pills and i asked you if it was okay for me to die and you said absolutely not because i was the reason behind your heartache and you didn't want it to be dull pain for the rest of your life

*(a.m.c.)

I listen to the way you lie to me,
the voices in the windchill,
the lapping of long waves against a distant shore,
the wails of ghosts far from home,
and I think about it
about us;
about you;
about me.

What does it say
that I have missed every single opportunity I have ever been given
and directed so much anger--
so much bitterness
at myself
that I can only ever be tired?

I listen to to the wind in leaves,
the wailing of trees,
the moaning of old beams,
the sound of water dripping into a bowl,
and the answer.

I listen to the answer.
I listen to the answer.

Windchill on a wintry day is like rubbing salt into a wound
It makes eyes and nose water like a crying kid
Negative temperature puts your jacket to the test
The bones can tell when your jacket fails
Extreme cold could be quite unfriendly
Risk and danger it is to the homeless

Whatever the weather is, windy or hail,
However it howls in symphony gales,
With windchill turning my skin into braille,

I'm here for it all, from beginning to fail.

We both know we won't make it for sure,
Let me lay out my heart for you, naked and raw,
I'm breaking it more for the sake of a call,

So love me, or like me, or hate me, I'm yours.

Poison and old spice
Chanel
smells quite nice
but somebody's trainers
stink.

Thus day begins
and the corporation
wins,
the windchill factor's
minus two.

I always come through it
get down and get to it
make do and mend
the same as us all.

It's the underground life on
an underground train
where no one can hear you
as you scream out your pain
where we all carry on as if
nothing is wrong.

Reaching each station
I review my situation
it's all looking horribly grim

The corporation win or lose,
the welfare state's not what
I'd chose and the zero hour
gives a bit more power to
those
that would tie us to poverty.

My taxes pay for a  fellow employee
to stay in low paid employment as indeed his pay for me,

This day begins

Head first dive bomb.
Absent lights.
I see your tread away from here.
Footsteps full of water.
Evaporate your insecurities.
Exit through the windchill in your spine.
You will find fingerprints.
Laid upon the insides of your eye lids.
Left there to remind us that we are real.
That those fingers have imprinted hearts.
Dusted mine off already.
Please don't give in to what society told you.
You're more than that.
Drift into excellence.
It's where you belong.
Full of extraordinary and singing.
Your voice.
It tickles my mind.
The way I hear you sooth the broken in me.
To think you were broken.
You have mended the most jagged.
So straighten up.
Belt out your heart.
You already awoke mine.

I've come to realize that everything I write is somehow about you and you are the inspiration behind all the madness and whenever something goes wrong I want to run, full force, into your presence only for you to say some **** to me that makes me laugh and makes me forget why the **** I ever had a reason to be sad. Maybe I will start believing in myself when I stop ******* things up. This mind has held onto the idea of you for quite some time and I can't seem to shake the feeling everything is already how it is supposed to be because losing you would be the second worst thing I've ever done, the first being hurting you. I am the global warming of many people's lives,  I burn down the necessities and I freeze, I make the breeze turn to ice and turn these winds into a windchill and my heart is cold again. My heart will always be unsure of who to trust and lust and love because I'm still trying to decide whether or not I believe in any of it, at all. I keep trying to tell myself I am okay, but then nights alone remind me that I cannot be who I am with anyone, because who I am is destructive. My aura alone could cause a hole in the entire ozone layer, then we would all be ******. I don't know what to think when every bone in my body wants me to think of you. The idea of you wrapped in someone else's embrace with a smile on your face gives me an inane sense of comfort. Because I am destruction, and I burn everything I touch.

A scent (and sixth sense predominates),
when apple boughs
and other aromatic flora
laden with blossoms and fruit
gently assail cilia of the nostrils,
aside from aiding distinguishing
pleasant or unpleasant smells
additionally incorporate complex structures
of the paranasal sinus mucosa
in which function
critical linkedin to respiratory defense.

Cilia beat in a coordinated manner
to clear the paranasal sinus cavities
and upper airway of the mucus blanket
that contains the pathogens and debris
continually inspired in normal respiration.

Avast extent of following poem
crafted a couple plus years ago,
when foretaste of temperate weather
covered swath of eastern seaboard.

Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would forever wish to exchange
unseasonably warm temperature
(10 plus degrees Celsius
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania today)
for brutally cold subzero windchill factor,
no matter unseasonably warm degrees
way out of expected range,
of established “normal”
far to balmy, undoubtedly
for the likes of old man winter
furious his blizzard snowbound
weather forecasts shortchanged.

Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
an inconvenient truth
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
third eye blind and believe contrary lies,
when every species practically extinct

and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe
(biden his time) redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket

of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial

Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, malodorous,
noxious, poisonous... pollutants.

Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
and one doubting Thomas less nasty
toward the braying donkeys in general,
when Democratic contender
clinched the electorate majoritty
unclouded protests muted trumpeting
base aggressivity, depravity,
and incendiary proclivity
for hunted prey (slapped

with felony charges that H_ lied
on a federal form
when he claimed being drug-free
at the time unnamed person
purchased a Colt Cobra 38SPL revolver
in October 2018)
hastening Grand Poobah to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
contentious voices to accumulate
additionally disappointment  

resolving global warming
activists linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate

dire straits, where
webbed wide world series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy former el presidente
number Cuarenta y cinco
commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state

for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.

Job interviews all morning
I am tired, so I retire

I leave the hotel
And runwalk through
15 below windchill
To the little restaurant
My face stings as I run

Quiet conversation
With the lovely waitress

Steam rises from my shabu shabu
                    And vanishes

I take the taxi
To the museum of fine arts
To view the portraits
Of John Singer Sargent
(Yes, Catteleya, they are beautiful indeed)

Late in the evening
I begin my winterwalk home

But first I stand outside
The museum
For 37 seconds in silence

And I Appeal to the Great Spirit.