I am a pup in the springtime,
newborn and
overflowing with joy.
I romp in the grasses,
roll in the dirt,
delight in the other babes
that
pop
their apprehensive heads above the ground.
planet Earth itself has
missed this time,
has yearned for the
white-hot love of the Sun
kissing its rocky skin.
it moves itself closer
to its age-old lover
and so summer begins
as a romance.
the heady,
sweaty,
hot and
sticky
love of summertime
pervades the air,
the fresh-hot smells of
reds,
pinks,
purples,
and blues
flies and
flits among us,
dancing on the breezes and
loitering in my nostrils.
I am a strong, fit dog,
in the summertime,
made for running
made for hunting
made for climbing and
like the Earth
made for loving.
the planet explodes in an
**** of life,
as the creatures marring
the Earth's stony face
rub and run
into each other.
it is a maddening display which
browns my flesh and
wrinkles my face,
burns holes into my skin and
scratches the superficiality
of myself.
the leaves,
encouraged by the heated lovemake,
begin their downward dance,
leaping from the tree branches and
twirling with romance,
colliding in the air and then beginning to
drift
apart--
it becomes apparent to me that
my warm weather skin
must be shed.
it is old and
quite worn down,
littered with burn marks and
the desperate clawings of a
bitter, old cat.
as fall arrives,
that is all I can be;
a bitter,
old cat.
for I had scratched at myself
through my lovedrunken stupor,
had tried to cease the onslaught
of the Sun's romance.
for the Sun had tired
of that old, rough Earth,
and so it
drifted
off.
the planet was filled with
a dancing ennui,
leaves twirling in the crisp,
autumn air.
there was no rolling
no romping
in these leaves;
no,
we let them bury us
up to the eyeballs
as we picked and scratched
off our scabby, old skin.
breathing out,
my breath begins its own
sad,
little dance,
twirls as a white-cold wraith.
it suspends in the air
for just a moment,
spins in a most beautiful way
and then it
disappears
into the atmosphere.
I feel the chill approach,
the stark whiteness of winter
settling into my bones.
has my skin been fully removed,
has my matted clumps of fur and my
dry-bloody nails finally
fallen off?
there is no one left to ask,
mouths buried among
****
brown leaves,
minds lost among
the cold abandonment
of the Earth.
perhaps
with the first snow
I shall renew;
I shall gain a fresh,
icy skin,
settled above the crisp,
brown leaves in a
fine,
white layer.
I shall rise from below
these levels of living,
first being pale and
weak in form.
the winter will
eventually subside and
I shall green,
shall grow and grow and
reach out to my
newfound Sun,
shall kiss it with my leaves and
hold it in my branches.
shall he,
that newborn king,
kiss me with his warmth,
shower me with sunshine
and rays and
newfound
newborn
life?
as for now
the snow thickly settles,
surrounds me in layers and
levels of
chilly isolation;
winter is still upon us.