I gallop through the snow falling like down

breathe it in, let it steam in the pink

edges of my lips & nostrils

I peel off my sweaty leather gloves

reach for the fluff, let my hands chill

like fresh meat in a freezer

I listen to my childhood favourite

horn concerto & think of my weird

childhood crush on mozart

specifically leap pad learning systems mozart

& academy award-nominated tom hulce mozart

I squint at the periwinkle sky which

matches my scarf & also a vein some

fine lady of his time might’ve painted on

it matches a real dead carotid artery too

I think of the funeral scene in amadeus

which is probably highly fictionalized

yet remains jarring even to me

pathetically sensitive I wonder if my eyes sting

from snow or this or that one perfect pause

the french horn just took

dear mozart,

I hope you were handled w/ at least a little

more grace

seeing you slide out of that trap-door casket

like a wiggly sack of potatoes was too much

dear lord,

please help me stop thinking about death

all day long