The Winter Blues

The smell of rain is sulphonic.
Trees are surrounded by chthonic,
And the winks are demonic

Mice are crossing the smock stack.
A blizzard outside and a buzzard inside,
And I all forlorn.

I refrigerated my mind in the freezer.
Sliced my heart in the pan, microwaved my brain cells.
In slow motion.

I thwacked destiny with a plaque.
ran smack into the knickknack, crushed the blackjack.
A thimble of hope.

An empty chair at the corner of the room.
A picture of an epigraph, an image of a grey epitaph.
A can of sardines.

A lovely view of Calla Lily.
Silence all over the room, some laments of the unknown.
Tintinnabulation.