Talk about a dreary day. Got up complained about the heat.
Soon enough it was looking like rain. Can’t even complain.
Oh how city streets confuse me, most words make no sense, either.
I hear them. I know the definition. And that’s it. The rest is a guessing
game. “Did the weather change or did I?” Am I bipolar, do I care?
Would it help to know? I doubt it. OR why would I ask?
It’s pointless as most things, truly are. No, not spiritually speaking. THere’s plenty
of that and much more than really necessary. There is no free will to speak of. This is the killer, to me, it’s both true and false. As a poet not at all. As a verse, perhaps, maybe...
What that once meant, I can’t say. But I understand why a bird awaits first for an unaccented rhyme to start a song. Light is Sound to a bird, I think. Bird plays sound against light. I’ll explain it in human: “ this is what a Bird does to show he is a Bird!” . Bird writes Birdsongs not just plays them.
By The next day, Birdsong has evolved. Now, responds with an accented rhyme. Birds adds to his Song, “I can do it backwards, that’s how a Bird rolls.” By The next observation, Bird won’t have anything to say over the accent. Bird is emphasizing pitch. The way that the sounds fall from the Nest! Bird says in Human, “I live my life as a Bird up there’s the nest.---Listen, and Watch.”
Over time, this continues. .Bird had added a purr to his chirp. Next, bird mocked his echo.
Unchanging AND Endless
#IF you ask me what a bird would say to a Poet: Free verse is the union of all freer verse.
