Crunch

I'm walking alone, hand in hand

with the sound of snow

to the corner store

that just got robbed...

this snow wont be white for long

soon it will blacken with oil

and ash from dreams flicked away

on cigarettes.

It will lose this surreal crunch

that numbs reality for a moment beneath my feet

and turn to slush

like everything else.

To soak through my shoes and numb my feet

that will never carry me away

from here.

All I have left is prayer

and an ounce of weed

full of seeds

but I'm too sober to care.

The lawns are perfect for angels tonight

to leave their proof behind like fossils

for the hopeless

who spend their lives digging for treasure...

But no one believes in miracles anymore,

those things Christmas stories are made of...

even though secretly, we're all waiting

for a child who has nothing to lay in the snow

with outstretched arms and an innocent face

facing the stars with wonder

in those brief years when hope is still a thought

to leave us with something to believe.

But the only thing in the snow tonight

are my footprints, my path,

the farthest thing from holy

that'll probably be gone by sunrise...

But still,

crunch, crunch, crunch,