deepundergroundpoetry.com
Spring
The sky bites a chunk off the Sun,
as if it were a quince and
the juice dripped down
its beard covered chin
- it's called raindrops,
they leak into crevices,
every split on every piece
of generative earth,
where the earthworms thrive,
where the roots stretch anxious fingers
out to fetch the run off,
out to drink what's left.
The sky bites a chunk off the Sun
and so the seed 'comes the seedling
and the quince tree starts to grow.
as if it were a quince and
the juice dripped down
its beard covered chin
- it's called raindrops,
they leak into crevices,
every split on every piece
of generative earth,
where the earthworms thrive,
where the roots stretch anxious fingers
out to fetch the run off,
out to drink what's left.
The sky bites a chunk off the Sun
and so the seed 'comes the seedling
and the quince tree starts to grow.
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