Forest Tent Caterpillar

It is now officially spring. The swarm of caterpillars has arrived, preparing to defoliate every tree in reach. Get fat, get healthy and live, before the summer rains wash you away.

Outside my door, now: forest tents,
Caterpillars heralding spring.
My shutter is weak; I am lacking,
But wish to remember so much life.

Outside my door, today, tomorrow:
Dicentric, leaving them hungry;
We collect the love and eat it,
Swelling each time our moth-wings flutter.

I went to the gym, on my walk back I noticed the tree exploding and took a few photographs:

There are no wild flowers

A poem written today:

There are no wild flowers, just undiscovered -
Waiting to be tread around by the soft steps
Of adventurers:
Botanists with a lust for the lost ones
And hats to keep the sun from their eyes,
Still allow you to bathe in it.
These are I, your suitors.
And I, I would take you with me if you would not die.

Fragmentary Rambles

Things have been near-surreal lately. I've reentered a part of my life I had grown to miss and, I, once again, am starting to feel like I am merely being swept along by fates and Gods. There is a helplessness to it, but also a great comfort. If all I do is surrender to my fate, not much room is left for me to botch what's given to me.

And what's been given to me? I have the most natural, inspiring, naturally inspiring, and wholly endorphin-inducing thing imaginable. I feel as if I am entering a sort of indefinite creative revival. I have something to say again. Actually, it isn't so much that I have something to say, but that I have somebody to say it to.

I've learned things, and had rare moments of retrospective understanding. I'm being passionate again, and I'm trying not to stop. My head is above water and I'm breathing deep, in this choke-hold of a town. I might even fight it off permanently if I can hang around long enough.

Sort of fragmentary and not my best writing, but it feels good to write at all.

I wrote this over the past few weeks, it is still untitled:

I had my morning cigarette while you were still lying in bed
I shifted through my skin and all the clothes that we shed
I was halfway to my home and halfway to my death
In Carolina
I was halfway on my own and half clutched to your breast
In Carolina

Maybe I just needed to feel the start
Maybe I just needed to feel a start
I got pulled away hard

A different way of feeling things has led me to a sun-burning face
In happiness, like hurricanes: the very heart is the place to stay
I was blown from coast to coast, follow the eye, I am a ghost
In Carolina
I was taught to love the most, follow the eye, they’re speaking prose
In Carolina

Maybe I just needed to feel the start
Maybe I just needed to feel a start
I got pulled away hard

My heart is older than my face will tell
But I will love you well