ICE ON THE FREEWAY
Whenever I walk on walk, oops, I
mean in, water, I know it's but a
question of time. Frozen, deceitful
time that glacier-like moves between
matter. The elemental conflagration
which changes this all to January ice
will soon be at my door : inviting itself
in like some unwelcome Typhoid Mary.
If it rings the bell, I scatter.
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