Archive for February 7th, 2011
Channels Scraping Mind
Nine foot, four foot, and six foot.
in dank geometries.
Life so difficult.
All is fuzz.
one channel, merely.
Leave me in nature.
The rich channel.
Man in Winter Street
Beautified black jacket flies, fit not easy, escaping a dead street
with searing breezes on frozen, black ocean surrounded by snow.
Gray metals and tingling plastics modulate the meeting of obligations,
and gorgeous white Cadillac rests on sparkling garage floor for clean hobbies.
Now Lilly is alone, remnants of a sunny day, still nice but massively phobic.
Sam was doing his best to bring home prey for a mean gas grill.
Kitchen table lights had howled of manifested financial manipulations.
And terrier in porthole, standing guard over the stellar, irradiated castle.
Marvelous grounds kept with deluxe machinery, all created from scratch.
A fierce blizzard took Sam, leaving his dead body in a snow bank, waiting to commute.
Ever careful, the suited mourner walks the drive, with sacred motion,
past a dirty and dark SUV with child seats, contrasting against snow
and the finest, gray-tan, brittle but sturdy cement from slick mixers.
Reminders of kids of kids, perhaps not on this trip, missing Grandfather Sam.
Knowing nothing good is to come, desperately wishing for poise,
for compassion that steams the room, clearing the icicles, the mourner
continues to move modestly as if frightened by the North wind.
Lilly wishes the day to end, but she longs for deep circles of comfort.
Dreaded Carl drives into the deadly white against the dangerous black with ice,
realizing his life is not quite over – His mind has scraps of chance and hope,
creating specks of faith that his spirit might survive the soaked blanket in his head.