sanama

It should become a full-time show, the tremors. Quite tired of my own darknesses. The pity appears from behind the corner as the snow begins to rush in. Too many straight lines drawn through a map. Destinations no one had ever arrived at.

Sooner or later plans will dissipate. If anything has ever been neutral then the picture of sorrows diving past like clouds of fog. There are definitely more birds in the south by now and something about it seems to bother me. At this point there is no possibility of warmth for me.

The blizzard: as if filled with feathers on the first day of poor visibility. Private snow plows still sleeping an elderly lady tells me I look like I would have been shoveling all night. Only crumbles left from the night.

Noise canceling exists at the yard outside of the situation. There lays thick thick covers and no one has volunteered to drift around. A tinted day shines on the metallic armrests. Waiting for the waiting to begin.

Today the snow will melt. Today the spruces will be collected from the streets. Today the shit will reveal itself. The shit shining like the devil card on a bright year.