the snow makes
the city into a
house where you
kick things and it's
kind but also cruel
you lay down to make
an angel in a spot
that will be grease
black slush tomorrow
and buddha watches
through the gate
over the storefront
translucent purple
and green trash
bags standing
dusted with sugar
and harmless like
stuffed props or
plants in the snow
so beautiful but not
to enjoy right now
because tonight is
like a gut
i want buddha's glowing
cheeks in our soul
i'm looking at all the
things you've given
me over the years
it is like shining
oil spill porcelain years
and years
like nine cloud nines
