Drawing and Writings
Crusade of The Birds, or, The SUN, motherfucker The Sun! (Excerpt)
...
Birds are the art of the Sun
Sun screams at them:
You are exotic!
You have throats!
You have songs
and hollowed bones!
You are muscular flutes!
Come up here
again and again
for fluffs of joy
and knowledge of time
and death!
You will teach the cold, vertical swords!
Those with the long hair growing on their heads
with the complaining fingertips
using knives
as word
as fact
as mirror
as penetrating device
They cry, “Yes!!”
They are liars!
They hate!
It is time.
We won’t even notice
becoming alien
The great transition into a moundless, smooth dimension
will be the crusade of the birds
They are sick of us squatting down here
living all long-legged
inside our shadows
bemoaning happiness
subconsciously scrambling
to belong
to a group
made of angry thoughts
and hurried healings
scampering about
smuttering on about
if
money
while the child inside our belly buttons
begs to the birds
for a scrap of spirit
For aeons, the flying things have brought down the timeless concepts
and now, we
the timelies and the topicals
with hands for brains
have quickly pecked out the letters
to describe our Star, our Sun, the lifeblood and King of our planet
the One who will finally show us how time runs out
Letter by letter, it was written:
“quotidian”
-Published by Dancing Girl Press