Wednesday, March 27, 2024


In the all-hell-
busted wreck 
of late March, spring 

is no pleasing, 
no delicate thing—
in fact,

she looks more 
like a fiend, 
an addict, a mess. 

If figures: 
the enfant terrible 
of the seasons 

has once again 
confronted us with 
"difficult art."

All who dare look
upon the cold
fecond dross 

of her latest, most 
reasonless canvas
must wonder: am I looking 

at the end of something? 
Or is this just
the start?