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It's all part of the surroundings,
as though to live, here was never known to people scampering about, caught in the draft of shiver - flakes fall as cars peal over white, stomachs turn to close in on headlights. Scared even of the walk, the stone - paving as it goes a painterly chalk, remembers the next day to never thaw the neighbors, as they rely on the local furnace, heat that melts - but never clears. Enough of bread, milk, wafers thin in the distance - all the same to space - invading with cold? No, but a vortex of sorts entertains our brains with a spelling so quaint it reminds us of gingerbread. And to make use welcome, neighbors do oblige with whirling, spraying gusts of man made stuff we never thought could fly - to us, our cars - a new blanket. There was warning of impending doom, of rice krispies that won't thaw - or be eaten. © 2014 Larry Ingram
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I told her what she wanted to hear -
to tell the day all over, with sunset, romantic leaves, branches of winter sparkle in nonchalant gaze, hanging there in frozen breeze. It told the forest and then the night - sky as it painted, scraped by heat, breath, walking toward each other when most in want, taken time to watch steam rise from each other. The dive back to predictably pleasant - past that is ours, pictures, autographs of us, of bars, cells we never tell, clouds we never see - or look for - in crowded streets, much better. Now the megalopolis is here, comforting a tale about us, you see, this surprise as it unfolds, curtains drawn to heights, scaffolds stand tall, let alone our might - high as it is, we'll never tell this. © 2014 Larry Ingram |
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December 2018
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