bitter cold and snowblind bright.
there's a certain kind of refractory fury
that new snow and no clouds produces.
glowing, glorious goodness,
and dizzying, dazzling destruction, too.
fresh powder and extra days off?
this valley is gonna be flooded with massholechussetts turdblasters,
and their sh!t-salad sackhole siblings, offspring, and spouses.
add in some slick wet roads,
and it's all the heavenly glory of a gloryhole,
coupled with dangerous driving/mlkjII long-weekend weak-sauce
that worthy warrior poets are perilously poised to participate in.
read that again if you didn't get it.....
just sayin', neighbors-
my eyes are squinting,
my steering wheel has fingernail marks,
and my knuckles are whiter than the wet, wild world around me.
that's that kung-fu grip like a mutha-ucka, suckas.
i'm talking about a gripping events.
as in, a stranglehold on what's happening.
and it all really always is.
i've got gun company meetings,
arthur-making last minute artwork hottness
to FINALLY get started on....
busy, busy, busy,
and nothing's getting done.
or, at any rate, more than half done.
if i was a steak, i'd be rare to the point or rawness,
and if i was eating a steak,
parts of me would be pretty raw, indeed;
but the odds of that doo-doo disgustipated noise
are even rarer than the air up here.
it's friday afternoon, y'all.
at work, at the computer station,
that's such a hard-style.
what's in store for the evening?
long hours, cold dinner, and starry skies.
one out of three isn't so bad, i guess.
getting older, getting wiser,
being busy doing nothin',
being busy getting busy,
taking it easy,
and taking it deep;
never quiet, never soft.....