Your brain explodes like a new pack of cards 
just when you reach up to determine whether 
anything remains upon the shoulders:
you find a block of empty space and weather.

Is it a front coming through? you stick a finger
through the eye of the storm as through the hole 
of a doughnut. Is the sun low in the sky?
You touch its rim as though it were a live coal!

Once the moon throws her shadow, you dip snow 
out of the earth to cool the severed veins
and arteries, the nerves roiled at the first blow 
that took your head off, the deluge of pains.