A lot
of our thoughts
are so
tiny—and they each
individually
weigh next
to nothing;
but the
thing is:
when they come,
they come
in droves.
Initially,
they're taken
so lightly—
they drift around
like flurries;
we don't
expect them
to stick.
And so, we simply
throw any
old coat
of shabby insensitivity
on top of
the depreciated
cores of our
feelings
before
venturing out—
inevitably
sinking, lost
and deep
in the vast
and inarguable
mythologies we created—
stark naked
by the time they
finally
locate our corpses;
though mercifully—
we're
covered in
thick snow,
right up
to our ponderous and
erstwhile
enterprising crowns.
