Sonnet for the start of false spring

The sun has left frost dust on bonnets, rooves
The bright morning will bring with it false spring
Buds of calamitous ignorance prove
Curious sheep at the abbatoir opening

Cast of this act speak barely a murmur
Still information falls like a monsoon
Gutters, swollen, are steaming with rumour
Hive mind, herd sickness, their place have assumed

The caravan of packets blossoming
March Hare, Maladie de Primavera
A tail not captured in its telling
Which in speaking makes truth but the rarer

Once again harsh hailstorms in lost April
Will strike tender petals off the apple.

Tensors for Karma

Eye's seared by sparse clouds blink.
This narrow world, the thread
The unspooled past
The tangled ball on which all pull
Unfurls through mist that lies ahead.

Through tensors
Can we produce Karma
Calculated where we believed gods lived?

Can we impute the interests of all over time
Is our mathematics insufficient
To extract the complex coefficient
Must we pretend all dance a single separate line?

Would the world be calmer
The right people tenser
If through sparse clouds
We used tensors for Karma?

Hurkle-durkle

Make all this cold dawn darkle
Work and all its hurdles curdle
Murk cuddled feathered covers
Lover curl my hurkle-durkle.