shaved
raze on the stiff upper lip
of what you might call
the face of this house
if it was a body born
with its head spun
the wrong way around,
one long line of snow
created the illusion
of a lampshade mustache,
while cheeks and chin
betrayed barely a hint
of five o'clock shadow.
240119
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from