with a laugh and a twirl and a cigarette between the lips.
Grab a gun and
shoot the towering worlds of ice until they collapse. Pick through the shards,
half-melted, glittering in the burning sun,
and steal the crown of bones
from the beast buried deep.
Remove it, bejewel it,
string it from the ceiling like a
twisted chandelier. Drape the carcass
in thick white fabric like the ancient statues of the gods
and let the frozen flesh slowly thaw,
blood seeping and reeking of your sins.
Tilt your mirrors and watch yourself grow
tall and frail, see the rust
claw at your eyes and silken hair.
Behind you, the glint of a funeral stares back,
unwavering and infinitely cool,
cooler than the hard, dull metal feet of the frozen deer and
colder than the bullets still lodged in the run-down glaciers.