We'll be hearing the snow sound tonight.
Seven years of not understanding a single sound.
Perhaps even eight, perhaps it's been eight.
I was upstairs under the bed earlier, being scary,
being a snow sound myself, Long Island Railroad ghost,
outside I was being group-stalked or there were helicopters,
the FBI was there and so were all of you, who I encountered
in the forest in the worst throes of puberty
when my mother gave me the better room out of guilt, well,
this guy won't get the better room out of me, no way,
and neither will any of you, blaring snow sound all night long
I'm hiding, I'm a monster, I'm down here,
I cleaned out under the bed because of the baby and also
to become personally frightening I was hissing and going
"bam!" "bam!" and then the storm came, coincidence?
Also I can't stop crying.
Last night I found a fire eater whose brain was lost,
all the people who formed the fabric of the things
we used to laugh about they're all being group-stalked,
there are helicopters, the FBI, and all of you
no longer believing in herbal medicines or convergences
we're all hiding under the bed it's not safe to listen to Coast to Coast
anymore, there's no more bigfoot he's been replaced
the snow sound is part of it but January 31st you look beautiful to me,
I believe in general deviousness but not like this, not when it means
we can't go to the herbal doctor anymore and
we can't trust a soothing voice, like Julie's, what does Julie believe now,
probably something entirely false,
I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in fairies
(staring at my computer for seven years, perhaps eight, no, ten, fifteen, but honestly not quite twenty)
oh except twenty because I'm 36 now so twenty years,
but what is the snow sound? Does it keep the trains safe in the storm?
January 31st is beautiful to me, inside for three days like I've always wanted,
cleaning under the bed and having no beliefs
watching the beliefs pile up around me.
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