To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Monthly Archives: February 2016
Stacy R.
he punctuates
every sentence
with “you know
what I’m sayin?”
says the poet is
like Kurt Cobain
claims she must not
like celebrity
or
“telling the same
story a million times
on the today show”
we tracked
down his
birth certificate
it says “Louisiana”
foster care
gay
skin black
as midnight
sky
he makes observations
uses too much
sugar in
the coffee
we bring
says he sleeps
outside
and respects
spiders
says
“I just don’t want
them to touch
me”
do I like it?
it all depends
on
the way the light
hits it
and
where I’m standing
in relation
to it
confessions of a low-class vegan*
*This guy, so dreamy. Consequently I googled “what’s the difference between fermented and rotten” just this week. I think it’s a sign.
