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The Snowflake

Updated: Jan 28, 2021

I was it.

I married it.

I spawned it.

It took half a century to recognize its preciosity of corrosive crystals as my curse.

The blizzard coughed me out

I got stuck in the storm’s rapacious, rasping throat where

I ranted

I cried

I pleaded.

I left.

I never reasoned it through.

My escape from the cold

Driven by an impulse

Deep within a mind

On the brink of clinging

Itself out of existence.

My thaw

Was never noble because

It was not planned

Or mindful in its choice

Of direction

But heeding only a somatic undertow

Ushering me to a peaceful pause within the riptide

I could not formerly fathom or envision.

Would it not have been nobler to share such notions

In the pre-war days

Wherein Missouri unveiled her distended desperation

To nurture all the stifling secessionist self interest

Which muted her humanity?

By no means could such vexing views calling for just abolition

Be permitted or condoned as

Anything other than those of a misplaced madwoman

A pariah, humiliating polite Southern graceless gentility

Where snowflakes hold together for unrelenting sway.

Now the snowflakes' kobold drives the daily narrative

To ignore the martyred madwoman’s message

Which recurs, remarkably, ever the same.

The brute too remains unchanged and immutable.

He now even menaces the conservators of the righteousness Myth

Claiming exceptionalism, elegance, piety and blissful ignorance of surfeit injustices.

From Walter KGB’s poisoned tea and coder campaigns

To the caging of border innocents who will never be the same or sane,

The Keeper of the Myth defies the Elephants to squint at themselves

In his gaudy, gilded mirrors reflecting not even a feigned feint of semblance to

Our founders’ extraordinary exemplum with its prayerful protestations that all are created Compassionate and Equal.

Abandoned restaurant window overlooking Northern Mexico's border with USA

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