Bathe your lips in colder spit.
Everything is snow.
The ground is snow.
The sky is snow.
The heart is snow.
All we are or would be.
We see further into ourselves
on clearer nights than this.
It comes as no surprise.
From the hour we rise
to the hour we duck and cover,
we smother the brazen winter air
in somber caroling.
We’re full-on disestablished,
and what have we to show for it?
Cheap cognac on the breath,
twelve years’ tobacco blanket.
Kept chilled and chillier,
we drop dramatic
through the frayed mesh
of these our present days.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 