What could
Have been a bird
Hopping in 
The grass
Was a leaf
Light as a bird 
Born to soar
Through the wind
Without avian
Self direction
Instead
Powers so great
Allowed the man
Viewing this
To create
A mistaken
Bit of lore

A stick in the mud
Could halt a flood
If its wood
Withstood
The trick of time
By grabbing slime
Make of it glue
But who knew
This story
Bereft of glory
Became a rhyme
Lost in time
And with it
This silly bit
Of mud
Was a dud

The trunk
Blocks
The core
Of the blaze
But watches
Before us
Cool
Ashes
Still 
Lit
But 
Dying for us

Feasting on the timbre
Of the feces
Birds just bop 
Behind the deer drop
Teaching us 
In nature
Is nurture
And knowledge
A song
We all need 
To hear

The Ikon hangs
On the wall
More likely
It’d call
For pangs

Its visage
So stern and fixed
Probably
Transfixed
But has no message

Except
When asked
Mortally
Basked
By a precept

Its appearance
Transmogrifies
Cloudily
Clarifies
Eternal compliance

Let ‘s make
Sense
For the sake
Of tense

Taste
So dormant
A waste
Most can't

Make
A choice
“Tween steak
Or rice

So smell
Leaps 
Directly well
From odorous heaps

Summonsing
Our existence
By savoring
Subsistence

Vision
Fools humanity
With derision
For reality

Among
The senses
It does belong
At broken fences

Hearing
First to go
Sealing
The flow

Where
Languages
Share
Cracked appendages

But touch
Too neglected
Is such
Widely reflected

In times
To be told
As erotic rhymes
Delightfully unfold

So they are
Clock
Aware
Dance tick tock

Though
Another 
Exists through
A timeless mother 


Proprioception
ESP
Deception
From time free

‘X’ it all
I’m on that 
Hot bot
Plot
I’ll splat
After I fall

is is never an ism
spawning schism
peer into a prism

The deep structure
Of birds
Is not protolanguage
It is pre reality

Humans
Write
Songs
Birds

Are never wrong
They chirp
About
What belongs

To a 
Prebiotic
Reality
Sympathetic  

Deistic
Where words
Are majestic
To nerds

I am sure
There were times
When creative fluidity
Couldn't 
Flush
A toilet

Thanks
To the overlord
For it stewed
A word
Into a pool
Of words not stool

To sit on
For ideas
Bake
In the
Oven
Of the coven

Which
We almost agree
Can't give a stitch
About you or me
But a witch
Wandering free





Thanks
To the overlord
For it stewed
A word
Into a pool
Of words not stool

To sit on
For ideas
Bake
In the
Oven
Of the coven

Which
We almost agree
Can't give a stitch
About you or me
But a witch
Wandering free