Poem: Dead Grass Before Spring

 

Dead Grass Before Spring

 

do not confuse them with minnows

rioting from an earthen shark.

they are not disheveled wicker,

or shards from a tan season of dynasty.

 

consider them needles

that sewed themselves into their own quilt;

and yet now the slumbering green juju

awakens

 

to poke millions of centipede legs through their cross-stich,

so they dissolve into what they truly are:

pawls of a clock guzzled down,

easy as a darkening dearth of wine.

when the last threads of snow flee their maze.

they have no more prisoners, no escape,

only to wait, blind beyond hurt,

for the skewer of a dandelion.

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12/11/23   four mods ...