Seasonal Affective Disorder

sam sax

Let’s begin with the fields
That line the roads
My people fled down
Trailed by soldiers
Bullets at their heels

O if those fields could speak
Surely they’d stay silent

The human coffle   
Of the barefooted in winter
Feet torn to rags
By the graveled ice

I’d like to believe
That spring grew nothing
Along the highway

That the flowers weren’t
Devastating in their beauty

But don’t blame biology
For following its own logic

The professor’s hand on my neck
That caused me to harden
In my leather 

The angel lust of hanged men
Erections toward heaven

In america, you can’t trust
The flowers

They bloom despite themselves
They blood open
Then fall