2.

by The Juicer

everything gets to me

these days,
she says.

the soft tumbling snow,

till it lands silently

on the white ground.

already white –

one damned continuum
with the sky.

the trees and the rooftops,

layered deep

and cold,

standing there and here.

rooted indefinitely.

thrusting their beauty
like death.

indulging in nothing in particular –

seeming.

but they are up to something!

heavy with their thoughts,

drooping –
i can tell.

just look at them look at us!

pristinely
packaged,

incognito.

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