Winter's End
I miss the comfort in being sad Kurt Cobain I Cars go by, spray from tires coursing the grey streets Red tail-lights bleeding, yellow line, stop sign An ordered world of shopping malls and parking stalls and coffee in the afternoon I shuffle in to settle all accounts of sadness I have with me a coiled notebook and pen, and some place that is a mystery to me, the creative vaults of craft Perhaps the sun will show itself and I will sit outside and watch the blackbirds strut before their shadows I live in the deep pools of winter, a man groping in the well of sadness where all is up and obtainable, nothing below to fall into, no more steel-jawed traps for I have sprung them all. I say live because it is the aliveness of sadness, the energy ...