a spring poem

Shoes in grass
In the tall tall order of all things unsaid, unsung

A yellowness in a purple tongue,
Licking the blades of green, green, green

As a pitcher pouring years of hydrating pickles into the mouths of spring-red robins
On the tails of mid-morning foxes
Smiles guile the snails along their salty paths

When in the event of a pollen explosion
(a new feat for dandelion war generals)
Pollinating pistols dive into the stream
With any luck the tadpoles will find out

A guilty rabbit
Chopping carrots in the back of his Peter trailer
With the daily farmer report playing tunes of his bunnyhood
In a haze of lettuce leaves and sugar beets,
His reason knocks his feet off edge and into a pool of yogurt
The green bugs of envy avalanche their vision

A true buzzing picker of noses can’t laugh without a pitcher of red nectar at her feet
See the beach gulls
Trying out their new sunglasses
On the waves

A crab in the sand
A scuttle towards a beer bottle
When a throttle thrust overtopples the crab’s peace

A freedom in the art of believing
Freedom to believe in the soul of wanting
Along a mudskipper’s spine
Endeared by my kitchen shears
All for a new patch of sorrel and mint

Children gather
A truck of mindless tasty things barricades the entrance to the park
Leading in no direction but down the esophageal path

Somewhere I have never travelled
A coquille st-jacques awaits in shallots and butter
The whiteness
A table
Champagne bubbles singing their aria in ¾ time
Fluttering by, the waiter brings seconds

Slow sights
Pretty pictures
A backyard fight
Tossed t-shirts of Tuesday night

What a face
Linking noses
Sprouting arguments in prose
Climaxing in ripped pantyhose