You are my spring

You are my spring

The robins know you're
here- a call for courting
and the tastes of garlic
and honey follows you in
through the front door

We Hatchlings and a Poster

You all! Guess what came in the mail, today?

If you guessed my National Poetry Month poster, you guessed right! Creepy, but spot-on!

And now, a poem or something.

We Hatchlings

The pungent American
toad excretes his own
flavor of war, writhes

between two slimed hands;
But hold a ring-necked
snake, for the first time-

He is barely inches
but his scales are still
smooth to touch, to stroke.

He bit my pointer finger
with sliver fangs to fragile
to pierce young skin, too

new to do more than tell
me to fuck right off, then
he slid through the cracks
like a morning dream.

A clandestine night

The wind is a musty, extant scroll
precariously shelved at the edge of the city-
discarded under a young birch, bark still
raw from a winter with deer.
Underneath the street light, in the center
there is only a waiting silence.