Why choose Gold Standard sweet pepper this year? Oh, Burpee Seeds knows me.
It is January, but so very not-cold I’m harvesting ripe yellow bells as I read.
Woodpecker on the porch post. Breast scaled like a fish, its cap a burning coal.
One eye watches me through the window. Gray woman with a cold, red nosed.
Who picked my pocket and stole my soul? Where is it hidden. Clue me one, do.
Under the coffee pot? Am I warm or cold? In a mirror? phone? notebook? pen?
Your mother’s kitchen’s got no oven. Cold radiator, heat sink,refrigerator, her.
You’ve got no daddy but some frozen sperm. You’re your mama’s little ice box pie.
Cold is nothing. It is absence. It draws warmth to itself, sucks, swallows it down.
Somewhere on this winter day I’ll find the stomach of the cold, wade in and swim.