deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Ride
1.
A fine drizzle
fell from the
sky dissolving
into mist houses,
materialized around
her as she drove the
ghost-like barge beside
the road. Surrounded by
barns, silos, out-buildings,
their colors bleached their
eaves. Dripping old cars
parked haphazardly about their
yards: the ground had already
began to appear in places dark,
muddy: clumps rising like gloved
fists through the snow. In some
fields there were whole lines of
them marching parallel into the
distance, so deeply hidden by
the fog.
2.
Her tracks were
dark and round:
in the snow one
wobbly line connected
her to reality with
something at the edge
of the road. There was
an ominous quality to
her view. The fog even
seemed to deny her retreat
to form a thick gray-white
wall just beyond her imprisioning
Spirit. Here in the muddy, drenched
field was something from a book of
fairy tales, full of hidden, hardly
mentioned threat and terror. She
had a particular feeling looking at,
observing it: something close to fear.
A fine drizzle
fell from the
sky dissolving
into mist houses,
materialized around
her as she drove the
ghost-like barge beside
the road. Surrounded by
barns, silos, out-buildings,
their colors bleached their
eaves. Dripping old cars
parked haphazardly about their
yards: the ground had already
began to appear in places dark,
muddy: clumps rising like gloved
fists through the snow. In some
fields there were whole lines of
them marching parallel into the
distance, so deeply hidden by
the fog.
2.
Her tracks were
dark and round:
in the snow one
wobbly line connected
her to reality with
something at the edge
of the road. There was
an ominous quality to
her view. The fog even
seemed to deny her retreat
to form a thick gray-white
wall just beyond her imprisioning
Spirit. Here in the muddy, drenched
field was something from a book of
fairy tales, full of hidden, hardly
mentioned threat and terror. She
had a particular feeling looking at,
observing it: something close to fear.
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