Walking through snowstorm, snow on hat, shoulders, beard, I realize it isn’t snowing inside me. My body prevents snow from falling in it. It snows around but not in my chest, not in My heart, not in my arms or legs. My eyes see each flake and it registers in My brain, but the snow is not in My eyes, not in my brain, Is it? After death, if I die in the woods and my body decays where it falls, It could snow in the space my lungs took up, It could snow in the holes where my eyes were, It could snow in my skull when it caves in, It could snow where my stomach, my intestines were, Inside my balls, inside where my cock was. It could snow, it could drift, white, deep, It could cover my skeleton, snowing inside where my body was So many years.