Voices on the Wind
Turning Up Cold
by Ken Boe
Covered in cowardice,
I got drenching wet in that storm
hanging over my head.
Donít let your body fool you
into believing your soul is better.
Frozen forward, iced backward,
the leaders march toward their shadows.
Pretty simple solution,
I got out my tools, and my supplies,
to put a fix on the broken surface
to see where the treble was at,
and it was at it again,
so angry, and laughing its heart out.
She exits through the front door, posing for photographs.
He exits through the back door, sliding between buildings,
sliding between imagination and terror.