its very existence
is brought into question
each passing year
in this season-forsaken
corner of the world

the sun’s advance
toward this frigid
wind-blown high north
takes place behind
cloud-veiled skies

the transition from
empty white-brown winter
to full green-brown summer
happens suddenly
and on its own terms

terms that include
swollen buds nipped
frost-bitten daffodils
and late yellow crocus
blanketed in snow

rocky mountain spring is
late april sixty-degree days
trees in full leaf overnight
sticky snow-melt mud
and memorial day tulips

who kills the monsters at my feet
you or the demons that you'll
meet
and who will cry out in defeat
when you're on your way to the
graveyard.

it's
always better in the place we know
with the radio on and a bit of blow
and the sirens blaring down below
can't hurt us.

Switching the light out don't hide your heart
your soul shines brighter every time you start
to fool me.

I spilled some blood on the bathroom floor, mama,
But I swear it was an accident.
See, my hand slipped across porcelain, mama;
My skin tore like satin.

The paint flowed like a river then, mama,
And colored me a crimson sunset.
Oh, but it made such a mess, mama,
And I know messes make you upset.

So close your eyes, mama,
'Cause you're weeping red and the tears might stain.
Red for your lost love and red for scarlet fire,
and red for the young rose cut from the briar.

Maybe now I could be poetry, mama
The type you wrote about in your younger days.
Golden sun swallowed in carmine, mama
With its last rays dying in a blaze.

Grip the side of the bed in fear
Swelling in the air, a curse run amok
Seeing faces turn gray the seer
Fingers turn white a stare at the clock

How can I go when I’m not ready?
The plaintive cries the hallways fill
See my hands shake, my legs unsteady
Jump out of the window or swallow a pill

Where will those with class go to mend?
Among the pittance of which they dwell
Without a small sheet to wipe their a$$es
Will they su€k and gasp to the pits of hell?

Where is the mercy that thou dost seek?
Not as gentle the mist that has released
Shall it be boisterous or commonly meek?
What shall your soul do if called deceased

A sower
     A seed
A root
     Of the tree
A forest is the poet

A harvest
     A trove
A cherry
     Of the grove
Sweetness is the poet

A feather
     A wing
A flight
     Of the spring
A sparrow is the poet

A swarm
     A bee
A buzz
     In the tree
A sting is the poet

A puzzle
     A haze
A fog
     In the maze
A mystery is the poet