Sunday, March 15, 2009

poem Spring Sonnet


A soaking March is
inverse November:

serviceably drab
but waxing: crueler

than that idiot
Eliot could dream,

dear, etherised or
otherwize: not so

much a month as mud
slopped between times more

solid: a double-
fortnight white as old

Albion: daisy-
drugged allergenic

April: green as a
fair Saxon meadow.

A March soaking is
a bacterial

snowmelt: a power-
rotor shuddering

of a spray-shaking
lion: rising through

red Ides unto an
idyll: spongiform

lambs shivering sweats
from swollen frocks of

their grey contagion.
They scream for the shear.