pseudo-winter
it was the middle of winter
but that word didn’t mean
anything anymore
apart from a grey
amnesia of cold
since the summer
was a persistence
in which we
were stuck in
one sultry season
of never-ending heat
putrefying in the hues
of ulcerous yellows
that we named:
sulphur / bone / amber / gold / sand / rust
but no white oh not so white
for it was the falling
colour slipping down
the earth’s dusty crust
like a big scoop
of ice-cream
melting
melt
ing
but we did
nothing about it
except for building
gargantuan freezers
in gigantic factories
for a pseudo-winter
special for the rich
who love skiing
I hear it's quite cold on Mars.