FROZEN

frozen looks like a white crusty jewel. stasis. the cat lies frozen, solid as stone, clinging to the asphalt. it's mottled fur looks brittle, and its eyes are open but clouded over. was it breathing an hour ago? a minute? was it seeing its breath rising up from its warm lungs?
frozen sounds like my tinnitus, a constant no mercy ringing tone, screaming in my head, centered in my ears. it is frantic motion, but it is also a block of solidity in its constancy. anywhere you slice the bologna of my life, you'd find a bright yellow thread of tinnitus running through it. it struck me one day that it is only time that makes the screeching seem like it has motion, but looking at it another way, it is always there, never changing, frozen. so it is static, really.

i walk on main street in Saranac Lake, NY, a town far north in the Adirondack mountains. this is where the definition of frozen is to be found. walking on the street, sidewalk crusted with ice and snow that squeaks loudly underfoot, breath mists but crystalizes almost instantly and ends up forming icicles on you nostrils, eyes frozen shut, the air so sluggish it refuses to transmit sound.