spring.

april is here
in the wasteland
april is the cruelest month
I think thats true,
to slither life out of stacks of snow
to melt away the comfort of freeze and death
to put forth hope in
breez-fuly scented roses
to the young
and the crippled
going to schools
and libraries
hardly seeing
hardly being
is cruelty
I dont gett my self
to pray properly anymore.
sometimes I do
after trying
really hard
but mostly
I dont have the afternoon fever
 of siting
rapped in shawles
melting away
as I kneel
weeping to god
to empty
illogical
nostalgic impediments


april is the cruelest  month.
full if life
and wasted aspirations
ashes
in the wind of spring
upon the eyes
of almost lover
who never have
and never will
be.

see winter's dormancy
is hatched
flowers burst and emerge
and are set loos
and life is imposed
upon those
as drenched in death
as me.