.
Sunday
……………… —my head spins
suddenly it’s Saturday again
wind whips through hours
days are bullet trains
yet in this garden, long as a light year
crows drop in to listen for the bristle
of worms making way below
through a sea dark as biker leathers
black as predator feathers
I love these crows
—being so we-are-masters-of-this-row
they strut with natural equanimity
unlike cocksure CEOs who strut,
but with a limp of sociopathy
meanwhile, two blood red cardinals
perch upon a limb outside our room
much nearer god then clerics
in their blood-red robes
our fat cat’s
laser gaze nails them, though she looms
impotent behind the slider glass
—in this leisure garden bubble
these crows and I know zip
of speed and trouble
.
by Jim Culleny
6/14/12
Blink 