on the clay we noted more than half of
the grain had spoiled, and the copper
was of quite poor quality but
we were then too many miles from
the great cities and their gods so
we crossed three more mountains dug six
more wells made our offerings with
fresh water and old song and waited so
tired but so hopeful it might work
this time then rain the earth slides and
the flies and filth the sores boils and
strange diseases but we walked and
found a green land one cool spring and
never heard the horses approach
Tag: spring
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Scraps
phlegmy fog
the day coughswon’t start
easilythin tree maze
shadow calibratesa headache
buffetthe breeze
after allmuddling through
all elbows and regretwhy can’t I
shut up about themoon or prophesy
over this still bugor forget
how to cook an eggwhistle or
black hills the
dark sky clearthe way you
cold bright spring
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yet into the clouds again
hoping to believe again in
those pure unbiddens before the
inception of assorted retirement schemesbut who wants to read
that either and no thislevitation is sustained by light
in early spring almost dawn
walks through wildflower waves youcan almost believe and just
about forgive your younger soselfish self that denied those
sunrises and why not build
another boat ask that itbe kissed in a hidden
spot on the port sideby a dark woman filled
with spring water and soon
loosed on the surge forsome distant honey or ice
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in those dependent days they worked
nights and days and when home slept so
we had to stay quiet despite
the urge to loudly play so we
kept the TV low, laughed with the
laugh track and didn’t understand
spring and winter and spring again
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This bullet is for you he said and poured another drink. Of course when the robots take over no one will notice. Har har gulp. But should I really tell you about the feeling that came over me one day vast as the sky while I watched insects swarm a red mass of hair and bone by the side of the road. If only. The day was hot and he had just been forcibly removed from office so we thought we’d throw a little party. Little did we know that her speech would sour the whole thing and make each of us long for the home we would never see again tucked into the side of a mountain where dogwood blooms and that little pond with so many frogs in spring. But that’s the way it goes. When they bring it out you try to eat with a smile.
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Seven in the morning of the first
of May already so bright in clear
blue air birds make their plans
immense. Time for our little
dog to darken the earth with her
mighty stream and then a few thimbles
of kibble. As I doze my way back
and glance at the car of the neighbor
I try to avoid
a wide disc of wood from some
unlucky loved tree on
the driver’s seat.
I guess everything I
thought about the spring is wrong.
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dear friend, we’re it not for the tears held back—
but no, let me start again. After all, it is spring
and the half-clinging leather of newly uncoveredcorpses satisfies the flies. But that’s not it either.
Somewhere around here there is a small book from
the past that I’ve carried for years and never read.
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though the mountains take more we can laugh or move underground in the spring of shrunken expectation she walks away in the middle of a sentence
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I tried to be two things but the paper kept curling and I couldn’t get a straight line so I decided to move to the next town where I met someone who reminded me of a girl I once knew whose name I never learned as we only ever joked about certain forbidden vegetables while we were in school together though it was more of a forced labor camp but when those ghostly blue flowers came again in the spring we were allowed a minute of silence to think of the photos we once had pinned up by our cots now long eaten by moths
other animals 