from p.1 on Mon., April 2nd

Spring:

Bunnies hop from their mom.
Birds sing songs for you.

But horses shed.

You get hair in your mouth,
hair in your eyes,
but it's lovely.


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The first bloom of
purple tulips,

inspired tones
floating through
condensed cotton air;

two months until
summer.


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Dizzied and dazzled,
by an infinite amount of
ultralight beams,

Lovesick and lusted,
we are not invincible.

But still we march,
into the unpredictable future.


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Flares on snares.

I love the plastering
as the stratocasters
sing.