Garbage-strewn snow piles 

dot the fields in which purple 

crocuses have sprung 

Push me, pull you, in

an endless cycle of harsh

primate posturing 

Flash in the pan 

flames out after brief viral 

fame til the next one 

Grackles, like well-drilled

soldiers, descend to feast, and 

send sparrows fleeing  

Bluster like frigid

and howling wind numbs unto

paralysis 

Grinding teeth or gears 

the world continues to lurch 

forward, crushing all 

Let me get back to 

that dream so rudely ripped from

me by the dawn's roar