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Constructing Spring
One minute I'm outside practically naked digging up a flower bed and the next minute I'm shivering inside looking out at the horizontally blowing snow and being all herky-jerky like the delirious-tremens poster boy every time the wind opens and slam-shuts the multiple screen doors on this dwelling.
It is the next day now and looking out there are only a few trace reminders of the snow and the wind is asserting only its merest influence on the pine boughs. I could venture out but only fools rush in..., I don't know? If that's about love I'm not going there. I cannot lasso an idea that depends on ephemerality to exist. I am not allowed. I was denied credentials. Two other things I cannot do is fly, and, make sparks shoot out from my fingers.
I am quite a little sleeper, able to drown in cessation, but sometimes I stay up all night composing not one cogent thought as I bathe myself in self-doubt, which I only mention to attempt the deconstruction of happiness.
I am this year trying to remember that some bats are birds and some birds are, in actuality, tree frogs.