Snowmen are clowns in sinister stasis.
While you sleep, they smother cats and feast from bins. At dawn, their paunches drip.
Watchful, patient, hollow eyed, the snowmen conspire in silence. They know they won’t be around for long, but they don’t care. One night, two nights of misrule will be enough for them.
Some of the snowmen are defective. Ostracised from their own kind, they stare at your dustbin, contemplating waste and endings.
The Snowmen have unprepossessing names. Snarling Jack, Belly Beast, Hang Dog. But their hearts are full of such pretty, flakey poetry! Arthur Clamps intones sonnets in his sleep.
Over time, the snowmen turn hard and ugly. Charming tubbiness becomes deformity. They curse their makers in wet whispers.
But Black Snow falls into your dreams and can never die.
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