Skylarking

The morning abacus of rain on a wire
The wren watching it
Aches with a small intelligence
Which makes its wings dear to those who love the vulnerable
Jack-in-the-box of consciousness
In all its animal forms
One drop sliding down into another
In all its siren forms
As a frog eating a bubble of a smaller frog
Not yet born, maybe within a gelatin
Things get carved as gods
Things get starved
The abacus slides on
As numbers try to catch their siblings
On the arrowed line
The headlights of eggy cars slice through this our foggy scene
The mind is opened as the late century’s cans are opened
Clumsily, by hand
Commuters off to work
Starve on
Don’t think about existing
As, Or, For
The energy in a paper clip
Dropped on the sidewalk
Waits its musical coils of cheap metal
Clef of the organized thoughts
Slapping the jive
Paragraphs like butterflies
Chaos goes through a moth confused that it’s a butterfly
Oh Dear God, Dear Social Media
It’s okay to let a thought just die
Even the bluest ones
Those militant skies
Atoms are goofing off inside molecules
Physics tells them to behave
Reins them in like a mother
But it’s no use crying
That sparrow comes out of a cinematic fog right at your face
It couldn’t be any funnier if it was a pub’s dart
A pop tart
But evolution changes its mind at the last moment
And we are here, humming our inability to fly
Right this moment
Grounded
Mofo
It’s cold out there
Ima go outside
Right now and
Pity every
goddamn bird

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