Lie there faking death - a cat would love the
repose of night, like sleep, but impossible from
the position defending the castle, the moat -
but all the time we can't really sleep - not like
the time we closed the gates, the moat full
of gators and such deathly notices.
I took it as my last chance to see - all that
it takes to recover the retina - the dazzling display
of a cartographer - lastly make sure you use
the appropriate colored markers to see your
life flash before the Hymilayas, as they take
on red - like you dare to publish this without.
And then I'll see you down there, or at least I
will look for you in covers, in likely places that
you would hide, though easy to fool I am while
try to spell doom for corrective lenses.
And then it will all be fine, requiring some binging
on nasty water, trying to fake well water.
From here I can't really see much of anything -
buy faking a nicely placed monitor - watching how
observant I am, looking, seeing, but not really
giving credence to doctors orders. Then renewing
my vows to optical clarity, the amazing fast from
water, clover, greens and anamolies.
© 2016 Larry Ingram
It came to about that time when the
clock struck, and hammered and chiseled
it's way, when I took it to mean me -
that I would have to slowly crawl toward
exits - like people would not notice the
list, the sign on the board.
It does name - and shock - at night,
trundling it does and one really can't block
the falling liquid, like you would know
that you would need to serve, to enlist
their services, relatives staking claim in
countries English, and under the crown.
Besides flights out of the country, I became
accustomed to blaring humans, at one of which
noticed the list, a name, a face, registering
this complaint or that, as though I really
deserved all that attention paid, in cash -
a debt that never could recur - like a delayed
payment in blood, donating to military.
A dog laps about, not understanding the plight -
unloved but rewarded with flags, flags, folds
remarkably gloved, as icing, cream cheese,
namely whipped cream - a cream we'll never
see in the jungle that was survival for the
best and the worst, as names are listed in
granite, black, shiny, afraid,
notice the end of the day.
© 2016 Larry Ingram
If you try to drive while you sleep,
sleep never comes to the vacant stare
at lanes, yellow eyes to make ready for
lane changes, to night, to sleep forever -
so long as gas lanes are not too full
of customers daring to ready the cot.
And then, leaving the scape of islands,
they remember how often it takes to
wipe the shield, as though I could never
take a sleep aid for daring to doze off -
laughing as though I never thought of
lives in other cars, dangling beside the
Still, it's not the median that cares, an
average sleep time that passengers just
love to see there, taking their naps
between oncoming traffic, as though
it were easy, as though we were -
when really it's a mirage - this time we
Like snow you say - taking plows that
are remarkable to be angelic, lying there
as I watch, breathing in and out while
it sleets, safely in a manner of speaking -
trials catch me unaware and prescribe
the perfect number of passengers.
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.