Maybe, I should pull it out of my ass
the unwritten memoir, poem, verse.
My friend hates winter, would shoot herself in the face, but for her rescue dog, who loves to dance in the snow, the white powder glistening on its nose,
unlike a powder we once patronized.
Begging me to strip off my inner gloom
fall back into the stark white of a blank page
shake off the bad,
spread my wings,
share my somber joy.