The horses stand naked

at -25°C, chewing hay,

without freezing

I walk in the body's cold storage

and photograph the Moon,

my skeleton illuminated

by impersonal time,

my past parents fluttering

their uneasy attempts;

my children simply wasted efforts;

my own inconsistency

a prevailing idea

I sit seated,

in the driver's seat

The cat sings

in the grip of death

The walls accommodate the rooms

with both short & long sides

The world unfolds

 in cars & buses,

 like frightened cockroaches

at Blackwell Apartments in Dallas

The houses roar in the wind

The mentally ill polish taboos

 with the righteous

The religious trudge

 in circular reasoning