...discombobulated..

piles and piles..of unwritten..
poems...of winter..
and cold..snow...
languishing...
deep in the recesses
of my mind...
uttelry confused..
not amused..
at sights..
unsense..
of..of..
sleeveless shirts
in mid February..
black crosses..ashed..
on random foreheads..
stop looking at me
I didnt kill your God..
nor his son...
naked cowboy...did
there he is...go talk to him..
strumming...in brief..
in lieu of fig leaf..
Its february...
in New York
How much longer..
until the daffodils pop out?