Early Winter’s day
screaming pulpy rage.
An electric meat kind of day.
Foster those steamy opened-maw bodies.
An echoing tumbling of winds
wheezes through vacuous hearts.
Press flesh. Flesh pressed.
Toil and sweat for a plastic phrase.
Salute the falling snows,
Head fake harbinger.
Desiccant rushing for a fickle spent
upon a timid gasp.