the month of april
which is poetry month
is insupportable and ill timed
it’s still nearly winter when
words didn’t help us get by

it’s still nearly winter now
there was a season that made sense
that stoppered life that held us to
one single obligation just to last
to ride it out and not to

burrow so deep that there was
no coming back
to the surface again
that was wisdom that was
really a better idea than this

I never trusted spring
this coinflip season
spring with its rotten
ice and its seepage
spring with its alarming growths

winter was better better
to hide out better to live small
to listen to the wind
and the rain passing better
to be a clever animal

better to wait out the cold
better to forgo what sunlight was given
easier to survive then
than to live
now:

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