The Trail Behind You Is Death

I’ve been pissing crucifixes in the snow these days –
to mark my territory, you know.
My animal instinct to say that I have been here,
that I am here,

a symbol of my awareness.

My eagerness to summon my will.
A subtle mind revealed in all things,

a careless ashtray,
a staggered path in the snow,
a meticulous,
unmolested,
uninviting dress shirt, carefully tucked in evenly,
perfect seams.
Dirty hair.

Yellow snow in the shape of a crucifix is not the sign of a dog,
or a squirrel.

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