I opened up my foggy eyes
greeted by sunlight touching a curtain
Its mid February,
windows are flung open,
and all the land is in springtime.
Everyone's celebrating the births
of presidents and kissing their
valentines, and it's the spring.
Winter still found time to
tie me to the mast, so i can be
Tormented by nostalgia and desire,
Hidden in the pleasures of the senses.
Today we warmed our eyes with the
unfamiliar glare of the sun,
and stretched out, and went outside, and
Took our bikes out on rides,
and had the colors pink and green
seared into our minds, as we sang,
All the land is in springtime.
A wet cold breeze almost touches me,
and distracts me, and makes me stupidly say:
Each time you go away, i wish you
would come back to your senses.
And I'm saying this to the wind,
But of course the wind doesn't listen.
A wet cold memory emerges
of a time when springtime feasts were held in April.
Growth, growth is down
Growth, growth is down this quarter
All meaning and direction thereby lost
But no one ever asked why growth is
the eternal standard,
Industry engorged on eternal desire,
has the spring tricked you too?
Desicions based on nostalgia,
Decisions based on lust
An unexpected springtime drive to insanity
and desire
among the mud and the flowers
Now we've known each other since September
And now we've got a handle on this place
I listen to the clock tick
I listen to the faucet drip
I listen to the birds chirp
Is there anything so
bittersweet, as being stuck
indoors at a job,
when all the land is in spring
He likes that
It reminds him of the sixties
and he lets you know at every chance
Harkens back to a simpler time
When fruit
dropped from trees all by itself
And now the holiday of crushes
gets the season it deserves
And now I'm singing a bunch of wind,
about a time
when springtime feasts
were badly needed
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