Utter Contempt

A miasma of death envelops January

I could be in old Mexico, Morocco

But I have a family

On snow days, slow motion

You glimpse a flicker of time’s backside

The God of Israel, as it were

Sternly mocking

That you may know everything’s gonna be alright, even when it isn’t

And won’t be

When you reach a place of resignation without indifference

The drip, drip, drip of pain on a window, on a soft surface

I couldn’t have known I would be here but now it all seems so predictable

Winter and the skin is breaking

I needed to be somewhere

I can’t remember

The sky wants to snow

then hesitates

Does hatred hibernate

Like indecipherable engravings

on moss speckled tombstones?