I may have a red mind about green habits -but then again,
I could have wings strewn about my hips, and have stood
inside the marsh until the rising tide drowns all the rabbits.
And this post will be part thinking, part screaming.
Part screaming only due to the fact that I have begun
to loose control over my interior temperament. Tantrum
They call it, but I've noticed that "they" call "it" many
"things". Like like like like like like like like like like
carnations, and blueberry muffins under melting butter.
The Sandhill Crane I call it. Like I see it, I say, and I
call it like they see it, I say. I say, they call it like they
see the I see the it. The "I" sees the "it" it doesn't, does it?
Triplets, like droplets, but meters of musicality. Musica
syllabically measures the movement in your palm,
as does slipping it into your pants, palm side down.
And the most fascinating aspect ratio doesn't form from
a y and an x, though the primate mammal would and
should differ there. Right there, now, in high definition.
At 8:54 post meridian the wolverines throw down their
garments and dance about the woods in carnival violence.
All there is, will never be, and nothing will, always.
I may have a violet mind, though not a violent mind indeed.
-but then again, the Sandhill Crane, bleeding from
her mouth, smiles still at the sun and her own opportunity.
