early morning
confessional
the living room
a church with
wind chimes
rather than bells
reminding the
unrepentant soul
sitting silently
on the sage
sepulchre with lips
moving mimicking
morose ministries
to embrace the
majesty of this
moribund malaise
by releasing the
fatalistic fallacies
of a forgotten
poet preaching for
pennies to feed
a congregation of
starving sparrows
uncertain how to
compensate for the
climate changes
causing chaos and an
uptick in nest rentals

march has come in
like a lamb promising
the grand rebirth
yet the polarity
seems to shift with
the patient prognosis
of a panicked provocateur
scribbling prose on
the heartthistle tufts
dotting the dark and
dreary hidden skyline
of a gray city sleeping
in a downfall of love’s
last desperate appeal
knowing full well
april showers will
bring a dearth of
tepid painblossoms
in the silence of
her total disregard