of trajectory that states it doesn’t matter
how you get where you’re going. Thousands of screaming
fans roar their approval! Their hunger is voracious;

their eyes devour. They love the resultant slush.
They are fans of aftermath but share with me a healthy fear
of long division. They prefer quick goodbyes, the kiss off.

No one wants to think they could lose everything they have
just like that. I am blinded by the stiletto light of sun
on these snowy days. Even though I am driving, my car

is like a couch shaped like my car & not moving.
The audience, those who are left, react with shock
& disgust. I’ve said nothing but implied so much

by the evocative positioning of my eyebrows learned
through long hours staring into the bathroom mirror.
There is a weakness in me so strong everyone can tell

I’d rather sit down than stand up. I’d like to punch you out
for what you said is the kind of thing I might say to someone,
though it is well known that I have trouble making a fist.

I am blizzard-driven; I am a snow-covered pier. I wish
I could melt myself away & whisper my wet secrets
to the asphalt all through the asphalt-black night

while the sun sleeps & the moon glows & I harden over
like glass. In the morning,
put one careless foot on me & find yourself falling fast.