TUNDRA

Tempests of stallions stomp and gallop

through the bleak biome of soul, on which

there is nothing to feed.

Fatigue clutches the bones

like rabid packs of rats

gnawing on things eons gone.

The desolation is magnificent

in its cataclysmic finality.

Alas, ready am to be rid of both

sleek and niggling creatures

marauding night and day

like libidinous lovers

whom there is no displeasing,

and robbing me of eternal hibernation;

for this is what I, ever timorous

of true denouments, desire --

no food, no warmth, no companion:

dear darkness alone.

What to do about that demon, Spring,

I would not know.

copyright Julianza Shavin
painting by Julianza Shavin