" Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that."
Where went the colors, the scents, the warmth of those riotous twins, Spring and Summer? For they fell to the twisted death of skeletal Winter..............Yet I hear the writhing beneath the ground, the twisting, and readying has begun. It is slow, sinuous, slyly it slithers readying itself to leap ............so now, the Stage is set.........the lights dim..................the crowds waits...........breaths held for the grand entrance.....................
Act 1..... Scene 1....Stirrings
Cavernous, the melting, muddy maw that lies far
beneath abandoned landscapes, lunar grey in
loveless shades, given up for dead, coated with
absent warmth and indifferent tints of nothing.
As blood dripping from a careless gash, so goes the
diffusion of cursed rime, like amoebic dart and
dash, ebbing un-noticed, melting, running through
fractured fissures of imperfect lost beauty.
There, in those unwinding burial places,
the awakening arrives. Zombie-atic, the rot
falling away in pieces, the core emits rebirthing
sparks, stretching, groaning toward the surface.
Waiting for the blinding stab, the searing light,
piercing in transforming painful bliss, and then
the shredding seed, the breasting buds, unfurling,
unwinding, wending upward, outward, toward eruption.
And the whispers become riotous in chorus
Crocus Arias strummed by Butterfly proboscis,
Rose Movements played on Cricket strings,
accompanied by Purple Martin Flutes............
performed for a hungry audience, rushing
for a front row seat and the opening First Act
of SPRING, center stage, with a cast of thousands
as from Stage Right the Sun waits for his Cue.
