Sunday, March 28, 2010

Spring Sprung

Easter, yeaster, a soufflĂ© rising as out of bondage, tulip bulbs pushing up on sweet chariots swung low; an exodus, sprung as in Spring, a perhaps hand reaching across; tendrils, rhizomes, old and new testaments, that word derived, swear-to-God, from testicles held in oaths, phallic spires, a resurrection-erection-insurrection toward a promised place, pass the bitters, pass the old words, chosen, not chosen, bless wine, bless herbs, most of all bless us all, good eggs hard boiled go up the hill with Jesus, Moses and Jack and Jill to fetch and pitch nine commands and one for extra innings, take two for C.B. De Mille with his cast of thousands, no time for leavened bread, for corn rye sliced thin with seeds, but seeds, yes seeds for hope and homelands, for miracles, for turning cheek to cheek, think Fred & Ginger, think love is the answer 'cause Jesus don't like killing no matter what the reason for, think outside the box, a fable is a fable; it's enough that the equinox is vernal, something to shout about, the poppies going wild wearing April dresses, odes of them in terraced stanzas strutting their stuff from Fifth Ave. to desert floor, from plots to flower pots to bombed and empty lots; it’s been a too long winter; let me hear that trumpet in the daffodil, the sax in the foxglove, what was dormant is now urgent aching for Spring.

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