February Poem 3: The Road to Resurrection

I drove out facing the layer of cappuccino
Across the darkened sky. An alien scene,
Fields of brown and tan giving way to teal skies
And orange clouds like a dream.
This scene faded into the steel grey murk
Of overcast morning traffic.
Barren hills, green and brown. Skeletal trees.
Dry and dormant cracked asphalt rolls ribbon,
Cuts its way to resurrection.

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February Poem 2: The Poetry of My Asshole

My farts are a societal problem.
Like the hum of the walk-in freezer
Which also increased to twenty the gassy bass hits,
The fart artist knocks three times.
You can still hear me doing something
To fix, to recreate this as a work of art in taking a crap.
When I fart, the voice of the sea lifts without murmuring,
Inviting the soul as though I feel them not.