Cotton balls in corners
Glued like snowflakes
To the paint
Rip them off
Expose the plaster
Still it looks like winter:
The ruin of a pretty thing.

Cotton balls in pockets
Where squirrels keep their treasures
Where woodland denizens put hits
On the hunter
A deer head in the bed of roses
Like Don Acorneone.

Cotton balls in cheeks
To wipe off your eyes before bedtime
Don’t swallow
They’ll get lost in there
And your fake machismo
Will soften a truer death.

Stick them in corners
And they’ll look like snow
Stick them in circles
And they’ll resemble
The countless snowmen
You couldn’t roll
From the mud.


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