Poem Number 371

Winter, in all it's majesty, at my door
Storing summer water so that it can later soak my floor
With great sincerity it burdens the tree limbs that twist about
Makes me start to thinking of Ralphs german sauerkraut
Tranquil expanse of cooling snow blankets with calm
Rolling a paper filled cigarette with tears of calm
A bullet in the head will make a fine healing balm.
So that wintry night, I blew my bloody brains out on the white snow
And the icy winds will continue to blow and blow.