Homeless Alone

Picking off carrion birds on the telegraph line with a calculating eye; sat on a cold marble tombstone armchair chiseled with the name of a friend of mine... what was he called now? Strange days these indeed, they never seem to end; isolated in my freezer compartment mind, nothing much is stirring in there, no circuit breakers cut through the stasis. I poke the dead leaves with a psychic shotgun barrel; they rustle and crackle - moths in a Chinese lantern. Incoming snowflakes lock onto my cheekbones, heat dredged slowly through my scalp; I savour the chill as it creeps into my flesh, shivers at least are delicious and Winter likes to embrace my soul and fondle my heart valves with permafrost fingers. Tears won’t solve anything, and wanting something doesn’t get anything; the only cure for cold is warmth and shelter, the only cure for loneliness is company. Alas, I have no friends and all my enemies are dead.