Carol LaForet

Concrete is That Cold It's runny nose, frozen toes cold, Fall's soliloquy, a crimson smile dripping icy fangs. November sorts mothballed sweaters; Billy Blues Man folds a newsprint mat, concrete is that cold. ********************************************** Sodom's Rain Dawn comes clawing with seasoned dialogue, slapping fog's face with a hint of civility, murky enough to hide unkempt hair, breach of blindness. Words foment, blaze the tongue like Sodom's rain. There is no battleline, just words on words, pride puddled in fog near the foothills.

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