The Fire (Tales from an Ice Storm)
by the mingo
Posted to Poetry on 2003-04-29 03:50:00
the whole thing began in the wilderness
before women had heads
whores stood in doorways
and the monkeyless organ grinder paid
young girls a penny to look toward the sky
and sing all day as he turned the
handle towards it’s terrible growing old said
one voice small in the jazzy flow of
conversation the flames consuming themselves
all the while the sun is escaping throwing light
at the darkness as it goes like if it was the
story of a man who when young bargained with
demons & became fascinated by explosives until
the day his father came home found the kitchen
full of smoke & put an end to it – he can yet talk
about the women he has known as if they were
still alive – ( if they are they are not themselves
any more ) and yes things are said that have no
followers but hang in the air waiting for invisibility
waiting for their turn at being forgotten .