(untitled) -- a collection of experimental poetry [COMPLETE]

Spring

but when the Earth
tilts over
like a fat drunkard
falling head-over-heels
through vacuum
how can Spring
disappear?

no,
Spring has packed her bags
and now she's flying North,
like Merry Poppins
...sort of

but i guess Spring's umbrella
is made of flowers
maybe she has green vines for hair
or... insects in her bra

picture it,
Spring travelling
like a slow-motion
shockwave,
contouring our
planet's waistline

hemisphere today,
hemisgone tomorrow
Spring wears a floppy sunhat
and, naturally,
her suitcase is plastered
with stickers
from Paris, London,
but maybe not Iceland

Spring is always dancing
on some lucky patch of land,
there's a villa on the equator
which she
co-rents with Summer
though Summer is always
late on his pay
and spends too much time
lounging on the Sahara
like a dormant lion
with yellow volcanoes
for eyes.

Spring never leaves us,
she's torn between pleasing
two sides of our wet rock --
only we can leave Spring,
burying ourselves
in the soil,
although the flowers
still sprout to
greet her arrival
each year.