in Poetry

The raw of this winter is permanently baked
but I’ ll fake acknowledgement of a thaw

a tepid lie to the tune of truth
a song of spring pops to music
this moment only, and oily
in contemporaneous conceit
in just how damn cool
just now

a never again youth chorus
to once again bore
and ensure us
March to May
Is the way to salvation

this time tonic
a restorative
without call and response of a requiem
so chill
as winter wins again

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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