1-11 White Out

White Out


How icicles and blustering snow

thaw creative dopamine and flow through synaptic sludge!

My chilled fingers type as power lines

sag with icy plaque and a telephone pole’s

woody tibia fractures.


The birdbath—dense as asteroid ice.


Peering over my screen,

sleet scratches the picture window

as I sip microwaved tea


but in keying the poem’s climax, it—

and all following lines—vanishes, unsaved


as a blackout ends this very last li