3 Mice

The blindness
might have been congenital
but the loss of empennage
was a product of their environment
and one crazed farmer’s wife
who as a means of attenuating stress
truncated their tails
with a sharply honed carving knife.

There must be a reasonable explanation,
probably a day of frustration
escalated by the sound of rain on the roof;
ten days of spring showers
and the faucet’s constant dripping,
not to mention the laundry stacked high
in the corner, and somewhere in the back
of her mind the realization that her old boyfriend
buys Botticelli’s and sips vintage wine
for a living.

Those little rodents are lucky
she didn’t think of evisceration.

Landscape from Carmina Burana

A warm day on the savannah,
After a long winter, we celebrate
with songs from Carmina Burana,

Even the trees
wear hearts on their sleeves today,
the first day after the storm.

All the world is a magical world
of rainbows
and unicorns,

as we traipse through this landscape
that celebrates Spring
and all new beginnings.

Farewell to Attis

Sprung from blood,
those violets at the mulberry’s feet…
or was it almond or pomegranate?

It little matters.
The crop is sown from seed, not leaves.
The straw man is hollow, blind.
The tree sways in a bitter wind.

Liturgy or common speech,
doubleness persists; paradox
is seldom seasonal. The truth is this:
The hollow man has no history.

The story of that tree
( no matter its denomination…
mulberry, almond, pomegranate)
has passed without a future.

Some say signs are eyesores
but it is April; poems and trees are blossoming.
Flowers bloom… This is no pagan Spring.