What is it that I owe? I too would like
a modest set of the Emperor’s clothes
that everyone admires so. Beat out
a rhythm and the lie on the short sharp
tropical grass – it’s only a short walk,
I’ll go soon. And yes, there is a battle -
poetry, madness – although you don’t know
that I’m fighting. The `crow’ is different
here – a nervous white ibis takes flight – two
or more points of view, subjective without
remorse. I’m afraid there’s no let up.
The opaqueness is so so confusing …
That was the gentle way my grandmother spoke,
and then she’d clap her hands to scare the crows.
