wait outside my window

i saw you staring
twelve days ago
five days in a row and i couldn't
help but wonder, am i
the messenger or the evidence

blood-red snow like twelve
days ago, come on
looking for a good time?
the piecemeal moments of our lives
just don't fit
snow on the ground
i'd only let lincoln suspend the writ
(not this strange, violent
punctuation)

i don't want to be the one
they see at eight
five days into the week
too stupid to care -
but hey,
that's paranoia for you.