Here we are again.
The morning birds of spring,
Robins whatnot, chirp their chirping thing,
call the earthworms from tunneled loam,
frost to mud
oxygen, nitrogen
consumed by roots
in dirt i paint my face.
too dark to lie awake,
Light enough to wake,
An owl sticks my ears--
doppler whoops like
!oh? howling arteries
hatching veins in lungs
Where the flavor of Spring calamity gurgles up muck
Stagnant inside.
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