Poem of the Day 03.21.23

rites of spring

i sit here
hearing birds chirping

the rustle of trees

feel the soft air
coming from the ocean

bath in warm light

still see the sun at seven o’clock p.m.
like a fat ball of gas in the sky

reflecting off of windows
and the remnants of dirty snow

chase the tussle of winter
as it loosens its grip

think about rome
and young women in short skirts

hear the people outside
talk the dumb talk that keeps them alive

as i drink boatloads of vodka
to the sound of every fucking dog
barking its return

leaving their mounds
of incredible shit

outside
my living room
window.