The Ides of March?

F*ck that. 

How ‘bout the bone crackling,

marrow sucking,

life stealing cold

of January

that

puts on your skin

like a suit,

and shambles forth

with a peritoneum puckering,

rictus grin;

now
you’re inhabited 

by

this other

(something like yourself 

but not)

and...

you like it.