the clipped notes the knot of a Baird
If there was any doubt beneath
the shallow sleet the feet disppeared
And with it the Stolen solemn docker
where they tied mutes into therapeutic nets
the birdsong’s farce nesting on pillows
if lies grow stalks by fireside lets
Weed gardens where the embers fly
And your find you can’t go chasing
Catching sight of a flower in sand storm
the alchemy of conscience.
We’re all just crash test dummies in
For servicing and a drink at a bar
filled with flys.