Ice Is

Not one of those days
when ice is anything else ...


Bed sheet 
on a sick tongue,
slick and milky

where the sidewalk curls.

A collection of sharp, sustained drips
chattering 
to find charity

from the sun. 

Crystalized dendrites--
a neurological hinterland of 
sparse thoughts
solidified in a palace of clarity. 

Spools of grey matter
curdled on the windshield 
when the pane fogs from the inside;
a maze through which the warm rain
will run, 
unwinding licks
one by one by one by one.

Today ice is ice is ice is ice is

ice

and ice only.