From my current project Siberia, a collection of essays, poems, songs, and photos.
II.
on the one hand I hate
all the ice/slush
my feet being wet
but then
there is some meltwater
makes its way through
icesheets
carves a canyon
or maybe a gorge
also then
the cacophony of slush
so many wet bristles of
a sweepbroom
III.
The men curse with their icebreakers
Faces red rough, instruments scarring the
brick
The other men, on roofs with shovels
Push the snow till it falls
On the sidewalk in big piles
