Spring

Spring when it comes will call me

as it always does with

wriggles of desire and self-doubt,

niggling aches of curiosity and

nostalgia, above all with the smells of

time-fused fecundity, like the

rioting vernal clock on the hills above my

boyhood bed overwhelming the

docks’ ship-oil pungency, urging me to

cast off, make steam, dump the charts,

live, love, fuck, explore

foreign soils or the

strange secrets of the

next street.

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Comments

  • Tonya Ramey  On February 10, 2012 at 10:55 pm

    A perfectly, executed full-nelson 🙂

  • emmjaepenniman  On February 11, 2012 at 3:55 am

    I caught Spring Fever earlier this week and after reading this lovely poem, it’s been intensified. Thank you.

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