Mayday/1st of Fools
a happy birthday present for my wife!

Recalls a long and memorable walk we took together one spring day during hard times a couple years ago, and how we were refreshed by the spectacle of nature and humanity. Joyeux anniversaire mon amour!
MAYPOLE 1st of FOOLS out again on down-time/impressions:
means for both of us freedom from labor and of
The Song of Swan--Poetry's knell of death
and birth\\:
a taking-wing today of future prognostications
fulfils the finality factor of every swansong
by means of the
garden colors spilling off of the lower rooftops.
Brood of Calcutta here transplanted in spirit
Rooted in Suburbanly Americanized Memories of Parisien Banlieux
crossing the RIO BRANDY
X-ing
so DOMESTICATED>>> MayPole Day
<<< where green was the theme\
seeming like the subject of a swansong on a stroll/thinking too much
Spring Break and Girls Gone Wild
When Lewis and Clark undertook their famous crossing of the RHINE,
and the ridicule of our precarious
passage through plague--:
nursing a sense of industrial isolation from having long been set apart from everything fresh—
but breathing in deeply such sweet seasoned air into the
spongy tissue of the lungs.
Down-hill to Market-Street,
barely working up a sweat yet we thought we heard something squealing in the foothill suburbs
skater strident minis like imberb Valkyries
bellies flat on the skateboards (it shall crawl on its belly)
slips of kid
launched like squealing missiles into oncoming traffic,
dodging everything artfully.
MAYDAY IN PANDEMIC bred toadstools
even outside goblin gardens;
mushroom strings from roots fed by dew
some hours after that fateful bellyful of pizza.
Now old neighborhoods are changing/ its denizens are different/ our skin changes. Verge of Death? this is life.
the new reptiles crawl dew fungus an old creature
slips of serpent
[As the APPEARANCE of SNAKES is a sign of Spring]
To Be Continued...
About the Creator
Rob Angeli
sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt
There are tears of things, and mortal objects touch the mind.
-Virgil Aeneid I.462
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