Sodium Chloride Winter

i am searching for a pen

with the right words 

on its tip-

to be dead like this,

i am Scribbles,

thoughtless test paper, 

Purposeless-

except to get the blood 

moving in curdled

lobes of grayish-

Matter, if it did matter

I could care

its hard to pick out

the things that feel important

in cold, salt-encrusted

sidewalk times as these

the burden of a distant 

Winterneverending-