all those pretty girls

the parenthetical spring takes it's cue
from the forsythias
twining together these perfect
blue shaded days
with a sweet breeze
bending the first grass,
bowing in concert,
harmonizing the song birds
picking up house over the pond.

this morning's sun, through the old
church, shook up the glimmer of
her seasonal lips and the organic dew on
her face buried
in neighborhood blond or Spanish brown hair.
The faces of all those pretty girls,
weeping.

all those pretty girls kissed you
in your sleep
and in waking life.
in your car and on your couch.
you kissed them softly and with all
that primal hunger
your addiction created.

All those pretty girls
clutching all those white wet tissues
walk through remembering your
forsythia smile and sun beamed hair
returning to the nest of your
Father's embrace.

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i just wrote this and i don't know how i feel about it.