25 February 2023

Postcard 201


    I am that fine point where all things converge
    The perch of every bird             -- those messengers
    buzzing humming thumping                                     zip
    What are these poets singing? flashing out so cavalier

    its a riff on time, they say
    its a riff on time

    I am the moving empty thing
    invisible and gathered all in bundles        --wire lined
    fletched light and light winged                            chittering
    all I see unspooled and telegraphed

    its a riff on time see
    its a riff on time