Monday, March 28, 2016

the plumbic spring tears a new mouth

spring in the north
has another mind,
or perhaps it is the 
body which is particular,
     the penultimate 
     terra firma 
     sleeping monster
waking imperceptibly.

in other words, March
is ages pre-
possibility of pleasure,
positioned so far 
from the mash and
fermentation of berries
(or if you persevere - the plum)
which will, excruciatingly,
through great pains,
pull through 
the precambrian scar,
into existence.

put differently again,
spring is epochs before 
sugar can shine.

yet inside the northerner's skin
a pale lipped pulsar
opens under pressure
of lead skies and privation
and cries out—
but piqued,
willing to pledge 
allegiance to persistence
to the impossible,