To be absurd from feeling to toe,
I’d punch the snow to disfigure
the torso of beauty
to join the mad soliloquists
the drunks and hopeless angels
with whales swimming in
their eyes of quivers.
Rapidly the curves of snowfall
impact the distant slums and they are
carrying pain too beautiful that we
stare and suffer. I cannot add a because,
a therefore, a necessity.
The event has sweetness
that only forgetfulness with relish.
I am too vague a vacuity too vain a villain,
being an absurd contemplator
the suspense of my erosion
is my only occupation.
and yeah, the feat of beauty
on daylight’s squirm.
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