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Jun 2013
The Ice Of Poetry


the ice of poetry,
glassine smooth
but
charged hardness,
hits you, ****** you,
unexpected snowball in the face,

the fire of poetry,
cherished phrase, a patois,
comfort food when
whole winter skies
swallow you bleak

mutual contradictions of poetry
savaging the soothed ego,
revealing the raging id

what's in a word anyway?
It's overcast cloudy and I got nothing. No vision, no inspiration...it's Fathers Day and won't hear from my kids...I got nothing...so I stumbled on this golden oldie from long ago
Written by
Nat Lipstadt  M/nyc
(M/nyc)   
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