Rolls and rolls of steel, crunching sand, salt or
errant mists of dust, wafting the brittle caverns, concrete scarred, clamoring for attention, although decrepit laborers linger throughout. Place your feet in these, these containers for rifling through life, stratus spheric statements while panting up the path, worn but silent for neighbors dissing friendly exercise, blues and whites fight over sun, sky, moon darkness. A daylight of suspicion, of numerous looks, some kind, some cautious, many taking odds with rational footwork, the most sensible of trainers stating the obvious way to tire of hearing, listening - and of working the body. It's a well known fact that the path of least resistance is truly the path of least resistance, plastic guards drawn as in skirmish, as in a lighthearted throb toward loads of sore muscles, they'll never think of crossing trestles.
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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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December 2018
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