bitten ( Russian Winter )

bitter cold
like Russia
in February.
ice on the eyes
and mouth.
frosted genitals
and the legs are too
cold to move.
cars bellow tailpipe
dreams out into the
morning, rancid and thick,
propane for the lungs.
given mornings
for blessing too few to count
and daydreams
hibernate in the right
of winter's draw.
misery in mounds
strewn by plows
across driveways
in this legion of snow
and slush and
creeping mourning madness.
no sight in blindness when it comes,
tailed by winds that eats the flesh from
purple fingers and seized joints.
no method in madness,
too cold to freeze.
no hope until spring
when the bodies move again
along dirty streets.