As the crow flies: exquisite, banks
thru pines & hemlock: Flash
Gordons surfing sky.
Up a level: wing-tipped buzzards,
slow spiraling stealth bombers,
slant wise.
On the ground: chickadees &
sparrows—hop, hop, hopping:
skip to the loo my darlings,
my daring do.
Devotions.
Sitting on my ass waiting, watching
& knowing Gödel’s theorem will
kick-in with news from beyond:
OMG & holy smokes how it comes
with crows and early light—ideas like
swarms of sparrows. Buzzards might
land & stretch their wings. Fools Rush
Inn. No angels need apply. Gracias!
A wretch like me.
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