The grass is greener on the other side
of the call from the depths of true spirit,
which means one must repaint our sinner's hide,
turn the penitent's pelt into lyric:
I have pained all day with no brush handy
with which to paint out these pangs of patience
perhaps overspent pining for candy
when my plans are better served by prescience:
And so I aim to depict the future
not as still life nor as acuarela,
not as dead nature or karmic suture
but as living culture, lienzo, tela:
I'm re-rooting my cellar with flowers;
each clipped stem kills the death that devours
urbansonnets 