Vernal Vivacity

poetry

FUCK the fact
the air’s still cold
the wind still blows
the birch is bare–we
bare our brilliant skin to defy
winter’s withering grasp we
lie in grass as if it were sand we
talk outside of things irrelevant
just to be irreverent we
don’t need leafy green trees just
give us the sun–
we’ll take the ‘verse.

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