I want something sweet;
although beneath that there lies
a labyrinth of desires.
A blizzard, a whiteout, through
which I squint and
cannot see the edges of what I truly need.
It is but a mass grave of mixed-together bones,
bones of rationale; mothers clutching children
pressed into the soil by Mother Earth's loving hands;
this week is the kind of weather that should bring forth cicadas.
Suspiciously they have yet to emerge; so the
city has bloomed,
and bloomed once more.
And yet,
remains quiet as before;
As quiet as winter was, the stillness lingers.
Sure there are birds and people, but no wind, no
thick honey summer storms.
(what were we expecting?)
The kind where you shut your windows
and my windows have yet to close.
They have remained open,
like the mouth of a baby bird,
waiting to receive:
To fulfill a
Want
or a Need.