Winter Dryness--A Poem

The desert runs from 

my nares 

to 

my ethmoids
A trail 

of sand 

fills the void 

that remains

 after 

the last remnant 

of moisture is gone
Mucous membranes retreat

their will broken 

beyond repair
Hematocytes march in 

to claim their 

winter stronghold
It is done

the 35% will never be 

enough 

to stop 

the clots 

that barricade the door
Oh blood

your hubris bites thee 

as you suffocate 

in 

desiccation
Humility might be a virtue

but humidity

or lack thereof

is a bitch.