My sandals are broken in by the door I am that ready for spring.
For April showers to bring May flowers,
for the uselessness of March to subside.
For the lion-like snowstorms to turn to wooly lambs
over-sized bells hung from satin ribbons
extending their cloven hooves and
welcoming me to the beginning of daylight savings,
the reopening of the lilac scented sidestreets of my mind
intersecting with the yellow brick road of my impending wedded bliss.
I have been sitting in the shade of the tree of knowledge for too long.
I am ready to transplant myself to a new forest.
One with cleaner rains, one with higher waterfalls,
one with taller trees, one with gentler breezes.
I am ready for foreign languages like complex mathematical equations.
I am ready for trade winds and westerlies.
I am ready for mountains of cumulonimbus clouds
stacked from here to the mesosphere
where we'll go to finally get rid of that ringing in your ears
and my heart palpitations.
We'll dance our mismatached salsa
and finally begin the mapping of my muscles
the unique cartography of my over indulged anatomy.
I am 100 plus pounds of bloody meat,
neural tissue and vital organs
clinging to a bird-boned skeleton.
I am ready to be more than head and shoulders,
knees and toes.
I am ready for the metamorphosis.
To wake up Gregor Samsa,
with you next to me.
manbug and ladybeetle.
March 2007
