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Simone Bélanger

Arts & Culture Editor

I like keeping snowstorms for myself

and knowing they fit there

the tiny drawer of a malicious rage

as beauty in all makes

me a brutal bird

a barking dog

one who claims victory

in hurting with righteous words

one who cries for the flakes

i buried timidly in a mild

headache of some sort

i like flirting with the softness

of the wild art that bites

and climbs on the tips

those slender fingers offer

they cramp and they curve

for a harm that cannot stand

to be maniacally disturbed

i beg, burst in laughter with

my smiling humid palms

i am sweaty

i am so wrong

though the crescent over us

drools in absurd concupiscence