The daffodils have risen and are dancing in their dresses,
The flames of spring ignite, the knots start unconnecting,
The ghosts float and fly, juggling knives
As if they never killed before.
The contents of an envelope after spring unglues the wraps
And terrible thoughts of a steamy world
Where we search for facsimiles while the abnegation swirls.
We are caught limp in the sockets, plugging in our passion,
Playing the odds with our portable prongs.
We file the insoluble in a voluminous canister,
While categorically denying all the sparks that short amidst us,
Miraculous and irreducible. We cannot evade
These entanglements of sticky lips and flesh,
We follow the worn path to heartaches and the treasure the heart protects,
And try to wander free of the fetters of the cruelty
That is our beauty.
I have come face to face with a beauty that kills,
That lingers and singes, where it hurts to look too long
Or too far, for fear that I would understand
Why those the most beautiful are the most alone.
Like all the other megalomaniacs, I never figured out
That it was really me speaking, from the beginning,
And so I am left holding the sagging moon, inconstant
Like a rotting grapefruit, and I wish only to watch her
Play the banjo all day, from scowl to smile, as the sun
Skirts irrelevantly over the burnt grass,
Tailor made for tragedy.
Lollipop-eyed ladies exercise their sadness on a leash each day,
While old business blue and grey men play horseshoes around a sphinx.
No moment of the world will allow me a space in another's glow.
Sometimes it seems God wants all things to grow.
