(Just)(Ice)
Televise.
Fear-tinted faces
flow
along the flute of glass,
depart and return
with subtle hue and cry
in the red voicing
a spider would web your mind:
prisons rise and fall.
Trapped in a trumpet
an idea tries to flee
a monotone of agency,
a failure born when
in the red voicing
a bullet would blow your mind:
matters fall and rise
behind a mirror of class
star and bar whisper
a lie birthed again
on flag-squared mappings
in the red voicing
a demon could eat your mind:
a piece of air survives.
Tell. Advise.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr.
October 4, 2016
