Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

ice melts
drips from the cornice
the water bongos are spirited this morning
the winter sky still harsh
battleship gray,
patches of gunpowder, why I ask
these colors of war
where is my old friend Sol
he must have overslept again
it's march second amigo
get the fuck up

I open the window anyway
need fresh unadulterated oxygen
lungs far too dusty
from the down low, hunkering
nights by the wood stove
my biological clock is tugging on my bathrobe
I stick my head outside
proud as a new baby bird
take a big bong hit of frigid air

hold it in as long as I can
exhale my hibernation
the winter buzz like a popsicle
right to my head. I'm giddy with the feeling
little eyeballs poking from maple cocoons
a hawk floats by, held up by invisible hands
my friends and I know...Look down the street !
here comes the Spring Parade

i think im gonna try one of them fresh air hits manana @ 4:30 am. right when i hear that train horn comin for me

Thank God! Spring! I'm more ready than the newborn robin!

Lovely poem.

I like that last stanza in particular. The parade is coming.

lock & load - even up here at the edge of the Plateau ya can feel it !