in the thrall of spring

fat slugs feasting
in the blooming bushes
butterflies float
in the stillness of
late afternoon
a heady sleepiness
as the roads are bare
bluebonnets swaying
to the chorus of planes
circling the clear blue
a chipper squirrel
scampers on the gray bark
as the cardinals speed
flashes of brown and red
among the branches heavy
with green spade leaves
the chalkdust moon
a flagrant vagrant
stares down with a
cantankerously cratered
scowling countenance
a counterpoint to the
auspicious avarice of
the shimmering sunlight
while a line of ants
marches double time
towards a melted bar
of caramel flecked candy
trails of glistening slime
upon half chewed leaves
in the thrall of spring
where suicide notes
and love letters carry
the same languid tone
and from a certain angle
four in the evening and
four in the morning
are just photonegatives
of the same dreamscatter


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