Winter Poem

People walk in the bitter cold
like stiff clowns in a frozen circus.
That goofy gray bird seems to be talking to you,
so you make a sound like the bird,
but the bird flits away. You worry
that you might have told the bird
to fuck off in bird language.
Remember that your body is composed
of more bacteria than flesh. This is
one more symptom of your unease.
Pick up a newspaper, bite into
an apple, and wash your dishes by hand.
Sooner or later you'll be overwhelmed
by the realization that the casing
around your body is super-duper permeable.
The thoroughness of your unity
with your surroundings makes
the use of bleach on almost any
surface laughable. And now
for a pitch-perfect rendition
of "I'm Over Winter."