Monday, March 21, 2016

Two Spring Poems

Spring, first thing
stink of mud as ground thaws
residual rottenness not fully

The flowers will come
like new skin, new hope
of renewal, as they
cyclically do.

The world will relive the same 
process as it always does or
seems to do; always just
a gap of memory.


Empty cafe, Rolling Stones echo
memory of time long gone...the
chatter that filled the air no
longer lingers.

We've grown old, what we never
thought would happen in eternal was all so exciting and
important, our loves and tears,
hopes and fears, gone: an ashtray
full of butts, the smell of stale beer.

The barkeep in his apron sweeps
the floor, readying the venue for
the next group of tourists.

"Here's where Thomas fell drunk
and the spot Ginsberg
blew a sailor...Burroughs shot up
in this hall...Kerouack was against
this wall."

The landfill filled with the trash of
those lives...a mountain of refuse
all that's left of the Utopia we once

Just then, a bubbly San Francisco 
mother aerates through the dull,
empty space, a quick complain of
her task to clean her house, a burst
of life, sweet joy, and gone.


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