"evil has a sweet, sweet scent/
wickedness is fresh and new each time."
- from 'Your Only Escape' by Gatsby's American Dream
it took me 80 miles and some sleepless hours to find snow at night in southern california.
the wind broke off its whisper to direct me south,
so i passed by small towns with lights and uncomfortable benches,
even a few dogs gently urging their owners as they can only do
in the barely function-able hours.
the snow i found fell continuously, a horizontally-fixated detritus
hiding some endlessness;
both orientating and abhorrent for my only self.
although i had not found what i was looking for leaving home,
i did find snow, and i threw my weakness at it to cut a piece of the ocean
as my own for just that moment.
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