White houses showing iridescent blue fangs of frozen water that linger long
into the bleakness of a frosty January dusk,
that sets upon my windowpane ‘dead on arrival’
This bleak and frigid season chills me to the inner core,
the brittle bones,
the essence of my iced heart that’s adamantly out of touch with the emotional temperature of the season.
White, snow, mountains, drifts, deep thoughts of Fahrenheit and Celsius,
the twin sons of different mothers,
make the world a colder place depending on the shifting of the wind . . .
. . . chill, skid, the crunching of metal, slide, scrape, snowblow in an effort to jumpstart
an anti-freezing world that has no gloves anymore,
a world that has no answers, too many questions and one too many December’s
on a calendar that never freezes, is never late on a bill and continues on,
damn the frozen torpedoes and the godforsaken overpaid weatherman
White houses sport melting teeth of ice, dripping endlessly into the foundations of
a winter that was, that seemingly had no ending, no rhyme, no reason, no porpoise.
Flipping this middle finger.
Flip this world upside down to Spring, for Christ’s sake.
Sometime soon, and . . .
Make the white houses finally go away.
I close my eyes
trying to dream of something better than this
anything true, a slightly bruised honesty would do
Maybe it’s because nothing feels safe anymore
So I close my eyes
and dream of distant Norwegian lilies
of beautiful and colourful things, the slumbering truths of my past
Although nights of black rain are making it so hard to sleep
But I close my eyes
And dream of opening them to the tragedy of a bleeding truth;
that life is never quite what it appears to be
to these sad and sleepy eyes of mine
And that innocence can only be found caught between the teeth of angels . . .
My daughters occasionally suggest that I watch a particular video that they find outrageously funny.
More often than not, I usually agree.
In this case, I did.
I’m currently in the midst of dealing with a lower back molar that has decided to kick my ass back to TimBuk2.
It will be violently extracted from my jawbone by this time tomorrow night.
I should be quite happy by then.
The sucker waited to speak up one day into my four days off, the phucker.
Needless to say, it’s currently a bit difficult to write nevermind blog.
As a veteran blogger, I hate to see my visitors suffer needlessly.
Enjoy the video.
It’s funny as hell.
So, when molar extractions and YouTube videos meet,
I wonder if they say, “Can I get your number?”
At any rate, the video is much funnier that I should be tomorrow morning at 9:30.
I think I tied that together rather nicely, don’t you?