Springtime, and I am Lucifer on the porch,
full of cold beer and as human as you.
My soldiers arrayed, garish and erect.
An army of tulips
and one drowsy bee.
Such is my state these days.
Through the rains of April,
solid panels of water
and then a stillness of white fog
creeping from the earth
as I once did
when I was young.
Today the soil is wet and pliant,
the roots swollen to burst.
Sex is in the air.
I don't give a damn.
Springtime, and I am Lucifer on the porch,
Human as you and a little sad.
I've lodged my complaint for the last time.
We live under the same Tyrant, you and I,
and though I've been called the Prince of Lies,
in this, I speak the truth:
You are dying.
Every one of you.
You wait for the end of the world
and it happens every day.
Your house is built on someone's bones,
all loves - forgotten as stars.
Your second grade teacher had a stroke
yesterday. She'll recover, but for how long?
Time is The Man's guillotine.
He spares no tulip.
If you could see what I've seen...
(and still I don't know what eternity is).
Springtime, and I'm Lucifer on the porch,
The Prince of Lies and drunk to boot.
There is but one life (I swear it)
and it ends. So many
people never live at all.
When it's quiet like this, at night,
when the churchbells cease their racket,
I will hear the buzz of a hummingbird
somewhere in the darkness, moving north,
tiny and alone. Life demands it.
And I become Lucifer, full of cold beer,
and a little sad.
