a remaining snow in a spring wood
finds me delirious in my
search for something real;
that i might roll into the
day anew, so very long-bereft of the sun.
however, this is not the
melancholia of some departed
faith, but an inward cheer for renewal
of my passion's passion and
a prayer to psychic rebellion.
the transient history that
became engraved into
legend on my...
