Singing

Singing

Your superstars aren't giants 

Jamming for their savings

Only the rhythm of salmon 

Slapping at waterfalls 

At noonday—, our brains 

Alert like some drum major's 

What does the marigold want 

To teach us about sad crows' 

Song:— shift beak to groom 

Only white mites without 

An arm or two can believe—

 

Amongst flung plumes—, dots
Of purple like blood on staves 

Sprinkle your claret on sand