artifice of cold

i wonder if i failed you because
my distress signals emerged as sarcastic gestures.
i should definitely not have made the jerk-off motion,
or tongued the cleft of my finger-v,
or flipped you the stiff double bird over my shoulders
all those times i fled down the stairs
to antarctica.

it is quiet here and the rope muscles
ache along my spine
but the wind feels nice
on my dumb puppy skin.
i don't miss the internet
kind of. i can play all this hot tv
in my head           i do miss feeling like
there was a second where i could have
slipped out the side door unnoticed,
kneaded the smudge of me from the ether,
stepped slyly from frontier to shining frontier.
instead now i'm
spear hunting                 or forever
wandering sad distant whiteout circles,

i'm so alone and i wish i
could have gathered with me from my spam folder
all the sweetly pining fake russian women,
                                                             whisper you are safe, i love, you are safe.
over the next few months they metamorph
into dark-furred huskies, my vyki, my nika;
at the cusp of perma-night
in our glow tent they curl with smile eyes
in tight knots against me