The spring brings to me the quivering muses

deep within the cavity of my creativity

A nostalgic naivete rustles its way to the surfaced

bridge of my ribcage

The whistle of the birds echos beneath my solar plexus,

evoking a flurry of childlike sentiments

Another puff of citric haze and I am dancing

further through the biological and cosmic

unison of sense and memory

Like a young Keroac I am on the road within my mind,

traveling back in time to the distant reaches of

my cranial wonderland

I long for the leaves of my dappled youth;

The fresh droplets of sun clinging to my lashes as

I reconcile with daylight and for the way

the spring hit my nose and laid indentation to the fabrics of

sense and being