Nothing new do the sun under nothing a new asunder,
now, when blues bled go pervert for the big melt start-
ah, a domestic bliss that hides white in frozen blunder,
initial grey siding peeled once so hard and flaked apart.
Snow melts. Things fall apart in spring, brown storms
blow down the self-effacing hills. A wry smile will not
save you this rump season. Give up on thought norms,
saving red delta soul not: a guru collecting geld is snot.
The eyes that were meant to pierce the blue always fail,
philosophically. The first time I did not look in your eyes
I was a flood that never ended, receiving a limp wet mail
post-dated with streak ink, a mascara hint of sad demise.
The suffering bamboo, now no longer laden frozen snow,
will bounce up green to clear the concrete path you know.