sunday, december 6

december's weight is strange
so much piled up and waiting

so many things coming undone

my mind is degrees off level
all day i felt like falling over
moving in some direction that muscles
would not pull, the inner ear
not willingly sanction

there was a biting wind this morning,
a wind with promise
but often enough i read promise in weather
which only signals its own inconsequence
i am told there's a foot of snow in upstate new york
chill and endless rain seem probable in england

i would like some kind of heavy falling from the sky
of my own.

p1k3 / 2003 / 12 / 6
tags: topics/poem