Spring Brews

I.
Drenched with what was,
what will eventually dry
and become white-washed
like ghosts behind
these brown eyes.

Morning dark
like night
or evening as I
adjust to dim light.

Wake up in a fog.
Wake up soft
and soggy
like these brown sheets.

The jitters will
only come later
with panic, with shrill
and erratic static.

II.
Sleeping too much
only tires the body,
the inner dwelling,
my soddy self. My sire

stoops over me now.
Gentle creases beside each
eye, like little creeks
meeting in a lake.
“Let’s go,” he says. I shiver.

We ride on. A storm
is brewing.
He interrupts,
“It’ll rain. We need cooling”

Clouds above grey, loaded.
The road, cars, widshield
all the same, aligned, faded.
Spring, I wonder, who’s to say

from behind this glass,
below her headless mass
we’re merely tinkering nothings,
traveling through endless outpourings,

raindrops clinking on tin cups
ready for her wind, her purring.
And the clouds’ grumbling, what do
they argue about in all this stirring?

III.
A witch behind the couldren
up there high. Stirring still
behind her
kettle-sky, her boiler

down here, drops of agitation,
acid rain
ready to fall
down, down the drains

like this faint
lass’s young heart.
See, she and I
that Witch-Sky
are much the same.

Her fury crackles
thunder turning off
the lights
much like I have lived
shutting off my…

IV.
The more I wait
under sedating
spring shadows,
the tartrate still coursing

my veins, the more
I wonder when she’ll
be done brewing rain
come down from her den,

done with unrestrained storms,
done filling my heart like worms
in a carcasses’s
eye sockets, when she’ll climb

down to cleanse,
to un-braid her sky
and let in some light
to untangle my thoughts.

© Paz

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I didn’t know there were prompts to this thing. ha! Well, I kinda did. But I guess I was too steadfast and didn’t read clearly or bother to.

So today I actually followed the prompt. Meh. It was a slow, lowly day unlike the last two, super-hyped up weeks. Slept too much. Bleh.

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