There was a time
The sound in my chest was soft
The clapping of flesh on blood
Soft and moist
But that was when I had a heart
Human it was
But the pain it brought me
Great and Sad
And now,
All I hear is screeching
A heart of stone
Hard and Dry
Like the grinding of granite on ice
The ice that now flows through me
The ice that now flows in my vein
You see the ice overgrown.
Shivering from being near.
Cracks run through the ice.
Fearfully you reach out for it.
Only to see it melt at your touch.
Underneath a life preserved for millennia is uncovered.
Just as the new life is reborn you run away as soon as it looked into your eyes.
Scared the new life hides once more within the ice.
he shouted my name through the crowd
eyes dark with concern
and it jutted through the air like a shard of ice
cutting my raw skin open
so blood poured from my wounds
and dotted the ground
as i shivered
I think you need to know
You say I'm old enough to understand
Yet you always say I'm too young
So don't tell me something
You think I'm old enough
To understand
Because you're confused
Make up your mind
Most likely
I don't understand
Or I just can't handle it
I'm that age
Where you step
On a thin sheet of ice
Every time you open your mouth
So do not tell me
call me not back
thru loveless dirt-strewn streets
thru eddying pools of summer want
i go not that way again/
call me not back
with eyes diamond-glazed by silent hallway lusts
with dark pubic pressures on sheets of fire
with the tender heat of small rose-nippled breasts
i go not that way again/
for now is winter
and i have seen blind children weep
on bruised knees
around a frozen pond/
with this sight my heart and feet are ice
and i can
go not that way again/
a light snow
a had been fallen
the brown most showed
knoll trunk knot treelings' U's
The Sound marsh water
ice clump
sparkling root etc
and so far out.
breaking ice
heat
of attempt
eat air
more of the sea
moon rocks the bodies of water.
slightly
we fish
the food
sometimes in the wind, in the light
hard as a pane of glass
walk on water skate on ice. what color ice? my skates are alfred johnson skates. PAT. AUG. 27. 1918 NO 1277137 CHICAGO USA NOT CONNECTED WITH NESTOR JOHNSON MFG CO. does ice mirror? it is day ice is silver metallic blue color of mirror of skates. lake's face we glide over used to mirror sky. did the lake look forward to freezing point? to when the liquid surface crusts? innocent enough it starts. water cooled turns heavy sinks warmer water surfaces. continuous cooling. watch the sun skid on ice. i am joking he never does detests slippery surface. it starts with a shiver continuous cooling goose pimples. for a second a certain expectant dullness of the surface then a thin skin forms like on milk cooling continuously. ice is less dense so floats its power lies in expansion. do you think skating a substitute for flying? empires of ice expand below. domain of the beautiful but terrible ice queen. palace walls of drifted ice windows of bitter wind a hundred halls ablaze by northern lights. gemini fly a lot in dreams as long as they are light. air is their element. at night ice is black even from above i guess i should know. we love to skate at night on a surface well lit.
frost, i breathe in,
the freezing air filling my lungs,
bleeding into my veins, chilling
to the bone, as it spreads throughout
me; a network of ice just as a cobweb,
and i am the pitiful prey trapped by
nature's embrace. teeth chattering,
reddened skin pricks at sensitive nerves
threatening to fall apart any moment,
a frostbitten heart ceases to beat no more.
for acceptance is one that cannot be forced,
for it is nature's law that love has its destiny,
for it is our right
to refuse another.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
The moon
pours liquid beams
on hard white snow
that hit with a splash
then freeze
to nothingness
while the wind
laughs at pines
thoughtful
shivering
sighing for spring
leaning on hills
coldly defiant
guarding bodies
of dead streams
in hard coffins