Magenta of redbud
a tiny stick of which
picked to post
In Texas, Spring comes in February
the confluence of a captive bolt pistol
that stuns and retracts
that fights the light
and a goofy lanky tongue wagging lab
escaped from the pen
or mental institution
with a yen for freedom
Eyes blind to distance
What the hell is Spring thinking here?
Teasing us with a subtle sweet blow
glancing and off-balancing
Spring is a cataract the sun surges slicing
skin slides south as blisters saute
supine in skinny soft shorts
space separating shirtless swims
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About Me
- John Rose
- "If you broke the record, or tore up the score, the song would still be there."
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