I am not really sorry, although perhaps I should be, for posting so many poems here in one day. I am feeling a little energized by the dazzling clouds and mild temperatures (they say we’ll have a whole week in the 70’s), but I am also pretty wary from the types of tricks spring has played on us already. Last night, there was a sweet, dampening sprinkle which whispered fragrant promises – but in the midst of a drought, we all know it’s not nearly enough. Sometimes, integrating the rational part with the experiential part of a human body feels a lot like finger painting: an eager exercise that leaves swirling, muddied colors and a sloppy mess to clean up.
embroidering the
weed-stiched lands with bites
too big for your mouth
whip-skipping borders
of crunchy, bleached-white stalks
with tedious French
knots of unbudded
greenish poles and their unkempt
floosy flowerings
gracing the masses
with lilted, smiling breezes-
promise of eases
monstersofourowndestiny 