babies

A winter’s woe. The cloud excrement of angels. Heaven's toilet boiling over with lead. The lamprey eels sucking at my window, hungry for fluids I no longer have. They ran down my pant leg long ago and stuck to the linoleum. The mummified cat with his head trapped behind the fridge, trying to remember the summer. The death ray headache. The persistent mucosal cough. A baby’s nightmare popping and pinging in its jar at the back of the cupboard. My wristwatch, crazed with boredom, flapping around the kitchen, battering itself to death against the light bulb. The blood stained Kleenex is the flower of my future. My wounds my only friends, we huddle against the snow.