NICKNAMES

the whistle bellows behind other signals of no particular grounding

the thermostat has no say in the temperature

when rolls up backwards along your spine and you beckon in the farm team as they stroll into town in a single digit flurry just north of the flakes that get chipped away

once the layering is done ancy as you wipe your brow wondering what makes this thing

accidentally putting the respect ultimately behind us

point little head towards nicknames such as pinwheel planet or pappy but it doesn’t count when you make it up yourself but then nobody calls you that anyway

unless you count

let me now digress to speculate on the salted sweat that comes in the night to be confused with remote possibilities that you can erase senses

in between rides on a box car that is going south out of your peripheral vision on through the faucet spitting out grimy water coated in rust meant to remain on your toothbrush and chemically merge with your brand