I'll Take Mine Black

Two spoonfulls of winter sadness, quiet insurrection, inertia of elasticity: stirring my morning coffee with a ballpoint pen.

The February sun screams out—the coming Spring, Ecstasy, an inner vision bearing fruit.

I told everybody, when I come out the wilderness. Lean and lonely Lord

Exhaling slowly, until the emptiness fills itself, an impulse far beyond thought.