Aftermath Of An Ice Storm Poem by Bryan Riley

Peering, slit-eyed,
at the unwanted dawn.
The first touch is always
a startling revelation,
the second one generally
ignored as it, too, was
uncalled-for.
Singing like a velvet Elvis,
I spill my seed and
call it 'lovely'. Still,
I remain unfulfilled

Who can tell where the
machines have been?
When we can unwind,
twisting blind in the wind
The chimes ring softly
into the morning gray
A nuance or a catapult to
sling me forward into the day

Hide. Hush. Be still.
Something dread from the
cold distance approaches...