Are you listening? I have access

to all the words, at least

hypothetically. Language, emotion,

cognition commingles in combinations

infinite, experiments replicable,

but only barely, in theory,

as every now bleeds

into then: inexorable,

inconsolable. We’ve been together

forever but when were we ever

thus? We are like the waves

that nudge, cuddle, crush,

resolve. Chances are that they−

and we, like them−always will.

Shall I compare thee to a minty winter-

green? Or dost thou prefer a wintry white?

I wouldn't call you flaky as a blizzard,

hawkish as a buzzard, trite and coarse

as a buzzword, perilous and painful

as a buzzsaw. Rather, on one side

of the pane is a chill that steals breath,

exhilarates, accelerates pulse;

the other side is painless.

Strong cold yields to longer days,

the groundhog takes measure,

‘til equinox, that pagan Easter,

shrinks cozy evenings

warms daily weather.

Midnights I write the manifest−

oh, being a poet is a full-time job

that requires a full-time job to pay its bills

and another for those of the tradwife

it needs to take care of them and the bronze-

digging trophy cats who fail to make Tik-Tok

talkies sponsored by vacuum cleaners,

amassing assorted Instagram acolytes.

Enjambment remains our jam but not

our bread and butter, guns or buns.

It's not easy running the world,

but didn't they used to call us witches?