metallic buds rage through the cold
of a delayed wintery gust
as my open teeth radiate with chilly sensitivity
this is my winter song:
Winnipeg
with a ferociously lulling deliciousness
keeps us one more day, for one more year...
a hangover weighs on the morning sky:
the artists skulk about the stony Exchange with steamy mugs
the hipsters prance and preen in AA-dappled Starbucks
the Old plough like wisened fuzzy clydesdales across parking lots
the bedbugs skitter to wake the Woleslians and die in granola-bowl caskets
the espresso steam screams streams of Italian caramel cafeine for the morning Mafioso at BarI
a lonely suburb diner bounces bacon-crackle echoes over misfit breakfasters
my skating pond floor vibrates with the morning furnace
my mouth tastes of pencil tips
my cobweb head registers that
my belly is an uneasy jelly donut
my limbs are prickly logs
and that i was alone last night
and that i am still alone
and that bottle lays as hollow as my torso
and my heart pumps heavy contra to the pressure on my chest,
my solecism
the church bells once rang earnestly before
charging into angry anthems which now
reverberate meaninglessly through blackened scruples
my Winnipeg
my home
my Stockholm
i feel as though i made some sort of diabolical pact
what lies beneath is an inky cavity
painted with measured optimism
false hopes of summer escape
thinly veiled in wintry grumblings
but in reality
we will never leave.
not really.
Winnipeg
with a ferociously lulling deliciousness
keeps us one more day, for one more year...
a hangover weighs on the morning sky:
the artists skulk about the stony Exchange with steamy mugs
the hipsters prance and preen in AA-dappled Starbucks
the Old plough like wisened fuzzy clydesdales across parking lots
the bedbugs skitter to wake the Woleslians and die in granola-bowl caskets
the espresso steam screams streams of Italian caramel cafeine for the morning Mafioso at BarI
a lonely suburb diner bounces bacon-crackle echoes over misfit breakfasters
my skating pond floor vibrates with the morning furnace
my mouth tastes of pencil tips
my cobweb head registers that
my belly is an uneasy jelly donut
my limbs are prickly logs
and that i was alone last night
and that i am still alone
and that bottle lays as hollow as my torso
and my heart pumps heavy contra to the pressure on my chest,
my solecism
the church bells once rang earnestly before
charging into angry anthems which now
reverberate meaninglessly through blackened scruples
my Winnipeg
my home
my Stockholm
i feel as though i made some sort of diabolical pact
what lies beneath is an inky cavity
painted with measured optimism
false hopes of summer escape
thinly veiled in wintry grumblings
but in reality
we will never leave.
not really.
