the big change-up.

winter seems like it's already here,
but it really doesn't start until later on this week.
and i'm tellin' all y'all:
i don't like early birds in any circumstances.
from worm-grabbing, to tag sales,
to out-in-front first-in-line queue queers hoping for
pre-admission to whatever isn't going to happen until
the actual designated start time,
all the way (especially) to the onset of so many months
of shivering and extra blankets.
word up.
i mean,
do you duders take solace
in the solstice's soulless desolation?
awwwwww.
c'mon.
who can hang out with the blackout attack cycle
of rhythmless circadian dirge-type jammie-jams?
what's up, my ninjas;
we're creeping up on the official wintry jump-off
of a barren, bleak, windy, brutal season.
oh, stop it.
and it's so cold outside the heat keeps turning on,
even with the woodstove roaring it's combusted
ferocious fuego activation.
for serious, neighbors.
the dedicated firmament location planagram constellation
amalgamation sensation is less than 72 hours away.
huh?
what am i talking about??
i'm talking about this thursday,
i'm talking about the first day of winter,
i'm talking about the one year countdown-mark
to the megadeth-style extinction brink breakdown.
up here in the mountains,
dawn gives way to dusk with only the briefest
glimpses into daylight's early shine an' that.
it's dark after lunch,
but it isn't that bright between the crack of morningtime
and breakfast, either.
the plummeting mercury is to be expected,
just not very appreciated.
30 degrees Farenheit is plenty cold, right?
yeah.
NO degrees just seems like showing off.
if there has to be a ZERO somewhere,
i'd prefer it be one of our fresh-to-death
zombie destruction rifles.
that's the truth.
***********
capricorn is almost upon us.
coinciding with the soul-crushing solstice,
the half-goat half-fish frankenstein's barnyard monster
is occupying the skies until late january.
i'm reppin' that mountain goat/brook trout action,
a woodsly goodness adaptive hybrid horrorshow.
and my darling daughter maple is doo-dooing the same.
listen up, friends-
i'm about to have double daughters in double digits.
i can feel the lightning-strike shock-straight fright-whitened
follicles falling off the top of my dome as i type.
old and busted is what i look like,
the new hottness is what i act like.
broke as a bad joke,
uglier than a bad accident,
but dope as F*,
from deep down bottom-dollar bets
to high-falutin' fire and fury.
a grey, gay fishgoat freakshow keeping it on full blast,
savage, berserker barbarian warrior poetry,
all the way to eleven,
all the mutha-flippin' time.
and that time is right now, just like always.
hard times, short days, long nights, all of that;
never quiet, never soft.....