couldn’t see the bird
couldn’t see the bird
somewhere hidden in the trees
its call was
pickagrapepickagrapepickagrape
it stopped
my ears searched, perked, waited
next it sang
grapepickinggrapepickinggrapepicking
am i to drink wine?
on coffee
and a late start
she’s still in bed
woke at dawn
then slept till i couldn’t
lucid dreams
i had marginal control
i clearly found and examined my hands
but when i tried to pass through the wall
i couldn’t
but did dissolve into a geometric matrix
before changing the scene
must work on this
with intent
wonder how my friend’s journey
to listen and perhaps talk
with forest and mountain spirits
went
need the same
technically on vacation
strong urge always
to engage
in the real work
Nadsat a malenky to pony
It’s not about the cutter
Pretty polly is not the only matter
but viddying clearly in my gulliver
a whole new breed of rabbit
My glazzies blub at the thought
No more nochys unable to zasnoot
Vred to my being, pyahnitsa, longing
Something polezny and a bit bezoomny
I light a little snoutie and horn loudly
My krovvy boils with desire and my tick-tocker skips
with radosty, the thought of ookadeeting the clockwork
I smeck out loud and am shocked at my own goloss
when it reminds me i’m oddy knocky
riding the britva’s edge
My sneety is horrorshow
Tufer Won
WHO IS CAPTAIN B?
Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro
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