Feeling the lonesome sky on a long drive home, you make it so   First frost, and the Black-eyed Susans staring, apparently              “Existence precedes Essence,” he said, we saySoon you will feel a foreboding in the Winter you have conceived   pain in the belly, a weather map of the eastern seaboard, organ                    music grinding the Messiah, a boy              building an igloo covered in powder—the wind howls ominously, see?              Rain follows fire turns to snow of ash                       White, what have we done to civilization?   There is no snowman you have not rolled from memoryNaturally, you can’t always be reasonable, Humanism is what humans do                                             Wash the blood from your hands                        Walk to the distant farmhouse covered in crowsSpring, pack, make a pact, choose murder, lust, compassion, shame             There is no such thing as not choosing