bulletcookie Apr 1

In a high school science lab he sits thinking of days, and ways to leave those shelves of worn notebooks and crumpled paper towels.  How many times must Newton's newton be derived; arriving at dawn to feed a hungry mass in motion with a pablum of physics on a table of elemental histrionics. His beard shaved one thousand times, or more, before his undershirt of white, white shirt, tie and does not know which pants he wore last night. Thinking day after day in dry-ice dreams of exploding suns and manifold seems that reach for his muse of time-warping schemes. With grades in a matrix of pedagogic craft he turns to gas lights and dims them down pat. Then on to path home and tomorrow's entangled spookiness.

white beard bosons flow
while teaching phenomenon's
fuzzy quantumness


-cec

bulletcookie Mar 31

this next month you will be dead
again, one year so far, far away
though still within this sanguine heart
you stare your love as always

your colored pencils drew an arrow
pierced a hole, one deepest yet
a life of colors formed its white tip
searing memories within its depth

recalled in fields where wild-roses sway
there catch past scent of once bouquet
cacoethes tears reside within these morrows
in dear reveal on deathless cheeks of sorrow

-cec

  Mar 31 bulletcookie
Mason

yesterday with you in
March, the cherry
blossoms - please
don't miss the little
flowers in your
search for a more
giving thing because
sweet darling love,
there is none. only
the children know
this, but I think
we are all children
after the rain.

bulletcookie Mar 26

All these poems entombed in a dying bog-

their death wish come true
mourned by poets in communion
dead muses in abject thread count shrouds
there lay Brute in his "et tu" tu?
there Cesar bleeds for art and politic
a writer's sword rusts in obscure earth

though here, among Himalayan thorns
blossom greens and early orange berries
plucked by blue birds and titmouse
scratching foot-tiny script onto tree moss
read by a literal sway of conscious antenna
archived in depths of a comatose cosmos

-cec

bulletcookie Mar 25

Womb-to-tomb a valentine sung
with first flutes past winter's rest
spring turned ice-cycle tongue
towards summer heat's crest

Oh! that first tender kiss
that was bigger than your head
and after so many misses
it clings, gnawed woolly, unwed

as vale holds a river, meander and wend
this heart hold embrace a current of rapture
sweep years go on by to leaf floating ends
sweet dreaming romance in love's capture

-cec

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