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