Here, the snow gathers on the ground and my spit melts a hole in the snow
that has gathered on the ground
and I start to wonder if it may be negative that I think in terms of poetics
and what will work in my life
and if I will work in my life

when I have never worked so hard as when I saved myself
because that's what I did
I saved myself

and I start to wonder how many people can say the same
and I don't know if it's positive that I can say such a thing

but here, the snow is crunched under the shoes I took from my mother
compacted into tiny crescents and perfect replicas of my underfoot

I like to think that taking a drag off my cigarette after a snowflake
landed on the cherry
maybe it is like going outside and spinning with arms outstretched
and mouth agape
maybe it is just a different way of tasting the snow
as a child would

when I know that clearly there is no taste
just smoke and the warm air from my body
clouding my vision

"it's in the white of my eyes"