Spring

I wrote this in the early spring. It's all about Iowa's love affair with spring. Spring's an asshole. 

Spring teases, 

60 now 46. 

He pulls out.

He spits in my face

Icy white flakes that tickle my nose

Silly pressing my forbidden space. 

I let go of my place

and say

I hope spring loses

so he may.

Drip drop he dicks again

odors of creme coco 

rotting leafs

fertile dirt

lilacs.

Shards of dreams touch 

my tips in drawing of

melting snow. 

Spring wins again. 

I thought he would stray

at the first kiss. 

Listening, my self service

served nothing but favor. 

He thought he would stay at first kiss,

but inaugural doubts by the other led him away. 

He pulls out.  Cries. Walks away. 

Drip drop tears fall in his muddy path. 

Spring has his way. 

The revolution is never over. . . It just changes. . .

It's been over a year since I last posted to this blog. A lot has changed, and now I am seeking out my muse again, to share with the public little insignificant pieces of my life. Yeah, I turned 30, and I'm having a bit of a crisis.

I'm no longer in Benin, but rather the exotic city of Des Moines, Iowa.

One of Raygun's best sellers. 

I am still working in the arts. I am still trying to show people that they deserve art, and that the arts can be a catalyst for person and social change. When I'm not doing that, I'm enjoying the wildly cultural city (no joke, it's incredible), spending time with childhood friends, and thinking about the half decade I spent in Africa.

My new organization is ArtForceIowa, and we work with youth who have been court involved. Many of these stories will be at the center of my revolutionized revolutionme blog.  I also hope to share my artwork, poetry, and stories, many of which go deep, are quite dark, and I haven't had the confidence to share up till now (Read: Deep Dark Secrets!).

John Mark Feilmeyer