Now negative seven feels like negative nineteen with a high sometime today of five feeling like negative seven, relentless since early January with no sign of letting up towards a mild thirty in the next ten days. I am fragile in this. One life ended, another begins. Or the same life arriving with lucidity: boredom: work without pleasure: loneness: nothing much to see so why see? I miss H. I miss walking outdoors with my hood down and the sun warming my head or driving around with music pouring out of the open windows. I miss colors running together like running water. The gutters running. The sound of thaw.
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Hot water pipe in the kitchen? Frozen of course.
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Impress me.
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&.
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