Kickass descends to poetry
The keeper’s decent into poetry:
Night Wind
The night wind comes wearing winter boots,
Kicking at the frozen corpse of the last storm
Decomposing in roadside snow banks.
The boots stomp a jig on sheets of black ice
Where the menus for fractures and fatalities
Can be read beneath an ugly, salty brine.
There is a hissing profanity in the night wind,
An uncompromising quality of demanding,
An outrageous unequivocal command to listen.
Against a sky bruised black and blue by the night
The naked limbs of the big oak twist acquiescence,
Waltzing to the baton of an omniscient maestro,
Gracefully swaying but never breaking. Never.
(See billstokesauthor.com for more Kickass and
news of the novel Margaret’s War.)
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