Monday, February 2, 2015

Ice Storm

The satisfying sound.
CRUNCH.
Boots trample glass sheets back to slush.
Sleet froze to fence,
rigamortis limbs glistening statues.
Totem and tableau of New England.
Smashing the gate with my heel
the joints shivered off and swung open.

This is a day to be a boy
who stomps into sluices,
pummel punches frost.
Vigor, reckless Viking,
plunder with grey wolf teeth.
CRUSH.
SMASH.
BOOM my body bursts,
on sidewalked streets,
a stupid suicidal grin.

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