no bird has flown
up to my ear
and sang a tune
nor have I spoken
to a funny-looking dog
and the wind hasn’t
pirouetted for me
any of which
could have mumbled
a single virgin sound
one hot coal to light
my crumpled paper trail
of dead ends
it’s clouds I dislike when my soul is cold and hope must search in their shadows it’s clouds I need to force a houseclean or at least reduce the dust on my library of regrets it’s clouds I browbeat if
if you don’t care about the characters your heart falls asleep? life is no different anyone that tumbles into a well needs only confess regret and plead their deepest need to awaken neighbors who thro
for the raven who blows out his head feathers to attract a sweetie like a black-leathered Fonz he mumbles an off-color pickup line that cocks her head before both spot the ham sandwich on pumpernick