ZEN BIRDS
STARLINGS SCROUNGE
All the berries ripe on the bush and you can’t help but eat them as you pluck the ripe vibrant bounty You drop so many and they get squished between your toes Your sadness breaks into laughter So tasty, the grove yearns life the pillow of summer lights dearly a pursuit, and shine in the hickory twinkle of your eyes The berries are all picked, except the ones not yet ripe They’ll wait for you another day Your bucket is full and the sound of the fruit rolling around in a drum fret of thunder The starlings follow your leave to scrounge the plunder A delight to have been able to sample the world Covered in the breathing sun and the dreams of wind and sage and the smell that comes from the cool mountains Our passage is eclipsed by the medium and oscillation in time BLUE HERON Words are fumed transient Like tongues in weeping quiver Bodies in the stone barter Cashmere houses and skies meander Loathing the hot milk screams of the polished candles The death resounds up through the hollow curb We are poor blankets towering the monkeys grunge She is Black and a kind woman The doors of perception ache humble catastrophe Let mock the learning they forced us to think from All the greens and blues and the heavens and the hells Systematically fragmented soul subscriptions revoked In weasel scrubs longing for the frostbite blue heron Frozen in hair and her sounds are the mimic in an eagle My power escapes me now
All the berries ripe on the bush and you can’t help but eat them as you pluck the ripe vibrant bounty You drop so many and they get squished between your toes Your sadness breaks into laughter So tasty, the grove yearns life the pillow of summer lights dearly a pursuit, and shine in the hickory twinkle of your eyes The berries are all picked, except the ones not yet ripe They’ll wait for you another day Your bucket is full and the sound of the fruit rolling around in a drum fret of thunder The starlings follow your leave to scrounge the plunder A delight to have been able to sample the world Covered in the breathing sun and the dreams of wind and sage and the smell that comes from the cool mountains Our passage is eclipsed by the medium and oscillation in time BLUE HERON Words are fumed transient Like tongues in weeping quiver Bodies in the stone barter Cashmere houses and skies meander Loathing the hot milk screams of the polished candles The death resounds up through the hollow curb We are poor blankets towering the monkeys grunge She is Black and a kind woman The doors of perception ache humble catastrophe Let mock the learning they forced us to think from All the greens and blues and the heavens and the hells Systematically fragmented soul subscriptions revoked In weasel scrubs longing for the frostbite blue heron Frozen in hair and her sounds are the mimic in an eagle My power escapes me now
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