Nonsense and Nonsensibility

Don’t hold your breath or expect sighs:
this is not a pretty poem, neither
thoughtful nor profound.

Crows call and quarrel with each other

re sun coming up over the Santa
Monica Boulevard.

I imagine this sitting in North Carolina
hearing the morning choir across the
Swannanoa.

Down by the dig, buzzards sit in a
dead tree stretching wings like Nazi’s
guarding the Cherokee burial ground.

Anything can stand for the whole
and holy if you don’t watch
out and have to be
precious & make
things perfectly
clear