ICE STORM V3

Spheres of crystals jewel a tree,

Garland power lines in mist,

Along the ribbon of I-70,

Gracing the abyss

 

Of rusted signs and silos,

A belt of steaming cars 

From places longtime lost to snows

Swirling on the scars,

 

The hanging silver spectacle

Of traveling bazaars

Suspended from the icicles

By the passion-clouded stars

 

That ornately trace

The tinseled miracles we chase,

The limits of our former heaven,

With the vehicles we’re given.

 

Tippet Alley, February 10th, 2014

La Jolla, May 17th, 2014

 

By the heaven that we live in.

fallen heaven

The miracles we chase,

With the heaven

That we’re given.

 

 

 

the oases /vehicles of xx heaven

with the limits xxx that’s fallen.

 

 

 

 

Hanging from the scars, bars

Swirling in the scars,

Hanging from the icicles

/ Suspended in the icicles,

From/In/Its/Their faces

From places

From/In races

In oases

longtime lost to Volvos, 

Bracelet tires indigos haloes logos silos

Of the recycling/ Denver/ Silicon Belt Suspended/ 

Droves/ miracles Former ranches/An oasis

And framed by passing/former/ From swirling views/ranches/ heights/

From xx Its long Farm /From Its/(The)From Hidden passing occluded curtained xx country Roadside/ Rocky Mountain/  views 

From (swirling) faces/graces lace places races spaces oases

Hanging mistily in/ 

Suspended now from/ 

Which, inexplicably, we live in./we’re given