Tipping my hat to modern invention,
I lived weeks in my home, in suspension-
A sweet music box, inside a snow globe –
With my coffee, cigarettes, and a robe.
Outside my window, winter was dancing
A waltz that spun, receding, advancing;
But each time I’d step outside my door
I’d ache and retreat, bitter and sore.
Rubbing my temples and grinding my teeth,
I’d shut out the grey man, rattling the wreath-
And when the snow fell, predictably late,
I slunk to my desk; a wretch-ed stalemate.
Then when I knew I could not linger more
I dressed and pressed outside my front door;
Unaware of despair beneath layers of cotton
Again I loved the glow of the snow I’d forgotten.
prince nothing 