The Cold
1.I thought that it would be glassy and dry (sometimes it is) but today it was my plant, forgotten near the window.
2.I thought that cold was cold because of the concentration of white. Then I saw the deep black, maybe indigo, and knew that complexity reigned. Atoms slow they don't stop.
3. An adamantine flush.
4. Speckled, but with an even less inviting pallor.
5. Glassine, clouded. Frost, the window, how has the internal atomic structure altered?
6. Brittle, yet if I were to break it, heat would flow out and dissipate. In this bleak world the break would simply reveal the next, even colder, and more brittle, layer.
7. A smell that is smell denied. A mineral bully. The sensation that olfactory nerves have shut down; pressed by steel. Expanding sharply and obliterating.
8. Hard yet bulbous and rich. It is anti-richness.
9. It burns and the ache takes hold of your skull. No. It becomes your skull. It is a layer between your innermost inside and your outermost outside.
10. The wet crystals burning and sticking to skin. Understanding of crystalline structure is of no use now!
11. The cotton stiff, like leather. Not quite. Able to bend at hard angles.
12. The air that only moves into my nose. It is glass, except at this point. Stillness but at a points where organic organizations chaotically splay into realms of mineral discipline. Yes, frigidity is mineral.
13. A taste that is pain. The stickiness is a cold ache that runs deep in the throat and the tongue flames up needing every resource.
14. Hands are stiff claws. Pink and white delta. Run dry in blurred fissures.
15. I could forget that I generate heat.