I know its Spring

I know its Spring 
because 
there is a cricket 
outside 
that won’t stop 
saying terrible 
things 

coyotes 
at the edge of town 
the lights 
of 
the factories… 
and… 
                …refineries 
late 
on a 
Sunday 

the long fingered 
river 
shedding its skin 
against the bark 
of pale emeralds 
and 
dead 
cottonwoods 

we fall 
as nomads 
among you 

a splendored 
dystopia 


we children of capital 
slouching into doom 
carrying 
the illuminated carapaces 
of our simple beauty 
in this landscape 
of subtraction

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted 02-16-13