outside

by Kevin Coons

holed up in anchorage
for the winter
im trying to write some bullshit poem
about the beauty of falling snow

it's hours i'm at it and
sometimes i forget the simple things
like sincerity/
like feeding myself

so soon i'll have to walk
out into the snowstorm
out into the meat-grinder

it's hours i'm at it and
out my window
it's just getting colder
and darker

but inside
I can't hear myself think
over the thunder of my empty stomach