SLED OF WINTER’S DEATH

SLED OF WINTER’S DEATH

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

The sled of winters death

whose trackless encroachment

reaps us from our shoes

and whose twisting sounds

silently secures its mentoring winds

is a disquieted horn.

I lay in my bed wondering

if the soldier of this abyss

shall invigorate my mind as a warning

casting me from my clothes

quicker than the shoes, I think

it will come to all of us.

The sled of winter’s death

has taken great souls a yonder

from Bonanza

whose Cartwright family is gone

to my own sensibilities

praying for an extension.

I wrack my head

and against the wall of these distempers

I know now why I am a poet.

The vestibule of intimidation

is not the arc angel

but the words we shall procreate

against the insanity of life.

The sled of winter’s death

cannot franchise

the things we leave behind, or

the affect of their creations

as minds affected will enter the abyss.

To understand death by its meaning

and to evolve

by spiritual entrance we forge, as

the Hotel magistrate

gives all who visit a key to the room.

The driver has no face

and in its ogres eyes death parches

for the pallet is dry

upon the receivership of its ax.

The sled of winter’s death

comes upon a day or hourless night

seeking no refuge

as it devours the energy of your life.

Kiss the one you love now.

Eat the Oreo cookie though it makes you fat.

What weighs more than a collision with death

is the impact of the sled.