…Flights of Fantasy (I) Fresh off the Wrist…

My fellow man rots so. The carrion birds do not cold-call in your area.
There’s a foul note amid this air. Fresh – not to be taken light.
It is the magpies, seagulls and blackbirds who’s presentation I miss.
A twilight delight. A call to their brothers in the woods.

I’ll not soon forget how the wood pigeons helped me pass my time.
Drop me a line– if you find any of mine.

When you’re not looking, he’ll touch you.

Spot him, he wont approach you.
Shine when you love him.
he puts you above him.

These words are my recycling.
Discord much to my liking.

Know the code he speaks, he speaks it through you all.
Such as the fall from the path you’ve been cycling.
A hike to some piffling unknown- Gosh — how exciting!


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