Curbstone Slush

A killing frost of Snow White white snow. A killjoy of snowy snowed snow. Kilocycles of snowed snow snowed then heaped in Snow White heaping heaps. Snow White sniggering credit card cants of snow white snowy snow mitered with a Visa, no, an Amex, with a curlicue beveled edge. Eyelids like moth’s wings, flypaper and velum, no, tarpaper, oily and sebaceous, shanty shack and unwholesome. Curbstone slush sluiced into mounds of slushy snow, not snow white or ivory caste white, but brownstone, blotchy and unseemly to the eye, the beholder of the eye-I. March snow is mercenary, white whitest snow clubbing it into a gored-red skin, seal pelt bloody red snow, an insanguination. Snow and blood are selfsame, cut from the same bolt, skinned from the same eviscerate. Bogspore: paella of castoffs and mealworms, bowels and tripe, intestinal linings and pancreatic slurry. Milt and pensile carrion, left to molt and scurvy into bread ends and black mold. Pennicillin for the sugar weary and insulin pale. It is snowing, yes indeed so it is.