Dandelion days,
Cuckoo o’clock.
One April
I went as mad as a lark.
Spiral eyes,
Humbug hare,
As heavy as the air,
Life drove me there.
I bit into the pear.
Green grass was taunting
You’re not so healthy
As the dark iodine vegetables.
Loon legume,
That stringent seaweed taste
In stewed tea.
The smell of a cut lawn,
Foliage in abundance
Makes some people sick,
Body’s thick with it.
Trying to kill the will,
Sense of resistance,
Immunity fends self
From self,
There’s something poetic there.
