Gruesome Spring

Their white skin is slimy underneath the leaves,
it’s corpse skin, corpse toenails, purple
corpse cud.
Their eyes are blue and still,
spinning underneath the leaves, snorting,
groping ass and belly and
the sound is like salt burning,
ground into the table with a palm leaf.
Tree roots stretching out
buried with a 50 year old bear jaw,
still complete with teeth.
The attrition of dirt lets us breath
but the gloom, oh, the gloom and the
landfill of oh sweet landfill dreams.
In there they all shift against one another
and finally, they exit after canoodling,
exit the leaves and rise into the sunshine
for a day riding bicycles.