It's lonely as the day
drifts toward orchids in the sky, but leaves shade - the mighty light bulbs of color dumped across it, as I wait we skirmish for a milder solstice. More leaves, branches decay in wonder. My scowl makes it complete, as though the night were furrowed with utility - girders, timbers and all wanting more of me to ponder. As I take a step - hollow, broad with no indentation as such, on the crowd, hardly speaking - a murmur to me of my shadow, it drapes across the chair. It's easy to sit in silence, a mockery to sound - I laugh while chatter erupts to force its will - the dynamo fades as the hawk flies off, spanning mountains. I fly to where? To repose, only you know that song. © 2013 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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