02-01-2026, 01:07 AM
Four Quintillion Blows
Microscopic hammers falling
make no dent, leave us recalling
carpet-bombing rearranging
landscapes into silent wastes.
Blanketed and suffocated
under white, anticipated,
interlocking ninja spin-stars,
glassy flakes in drifts of tricks.
Like a judo master throwing
his opponent, all this snowing
uses our own speed to smash us
into sidewalks with no mat.
One quintillion satin hammers–
pretty, pratfall coccyx-slammers–
make one inch of peaceful snowfall
bright in sunlight: I’ll stay home.
Microscopic hammers falling
make no dent, leave us recalling
carpet-bombing rearranging
landscapes into silent wastes.
Blanketed and suffocated
under white, anticipated,
interlocking ninja spin-stars,
glassy flakes in drifts of tricks.
Like a judo master throwing
his opponent, all this snowing
uses our own speed to smash us
into sidewalks with no mat.
One quintillion satin hammers–
pretty, pratfall coccyx-slammers–
make one inch of peaceful snowfall
bright in sunlight: I’ll stay home.
Non-practicing atheist