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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Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
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