APRIL, FOOL

Hopelessness is a luxury. The day
I bought you violence for your furs I fell
completely, thrown under the omnibus.
The pavement glowed for hours, opaque curbs
where the gutter meets stars slick with oil
& there is no standing. A one-way street,
this. Surely, there was a first spring, when first
the cooling earth tilted toward its millions
of years, as if to say it’s not so bad.
It is spring for a while, even when crushed,
especially when crushed. You pin violence
to fur & give a lift to passerby,
not me, not yet. Spring a crush, the city
a crush, hope a crush, & I, smitten, smote.

Comments

[Montana Black]

Your word paintings bring images beautifully to life, Gregory. I love this one.

[Geoff Carter]

"Violence for your furs." Well done, old sport.