It Is Spring Again In Los Angeles And Even I Am Sick Of My Melancholy

A poem

It is Spring again in Los Angeles and even I am sick of my melancholy.
Dreaming of your mouth.
Taking the trash out.

The heat spreading itself all over the pavement.
Summer was on the breeze and it was making me high.

It is Spring again in Los Angeles so I am dreaming about swimming.
Pulling the blazers I never wear out of the closet.
The birds building their nests again in the eaves.

It is Spring again in Los Angeles so I am thinking about the woman I once was
stripping and going into the sea.

It is Spring again in Los Angeles so I am thinking about the woman I still want to be.
My hands dipped in batter.

It is Spring again and my God is wild
saying my name into the morning - and I turn.
The sidewalk filled with trumpet leaves.

It is Spring again so I am thinking about the apostles removing the stones and finding a body still there and how quickly they must have buried it. And how I am sure I have mentioned this before. The smell of sweet fennel filling the air.