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When the snow melts in spring

my seasonal affective disorder evaporates with it

I can greet the freshly revealed trash with a smile

Leaves have likewise not yet finished dying

spring being fall put on hold, the latter

not lasting long enough for everything to die properly

A walk through a graveyard sounds pleasant

as I view them from the passenger seat

of a too small sedan

Landscapes scattered with refuse allow the eye to

dart and play as the grass remains as of yet ungreen

Every white plastic bag caught precariously on

a tree branch waves like a truce

Mother nature is the paragon of a sculptress

I know she will do with these things as she sees fit

The bag of empty beer bottles adorned with desiccated

human feces has disappeared from outside the apartment

She has already begun








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