We aren’t
waiting –
we know there’s
no such thing.
But something’s
baiting us
to fling our
morals out the door:
something
more exactingly
provocatively
terrible in store
than we can
stand as we sit,
smelling it: eternity
is selling it
again: infinity
packed fat
with kickass powers.
Next up: that
unreasonable
season sporting
flowers:
the roaring floral
sex-life blare
of plants. Makes
us want to drop
our pants, pull
out our junk,
and dress it
up with bling.
We sense the
funk
of Spring.
.
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