and the snow is falling.
It is Kafkaesque.
It is grotesque and Roman.
It is a surrealist painting.
It is every painting combined.
It is Goddard and Revelations.
It is past and present and sex.
The two boys across the street
playing catch yell, "the sky is falling!"
They continue playing,
constantly missing,
OK with all of it.
They never notice my gaze, my presence,
as I sit on the porch smoking cigarettes
contemplating the absurdity
of weather and planning.
We always think of ourselves
as invincible.
...
(k)
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