It's like a plan
greedily suckling the limpid remains
the inverted fir-cone sleep machine
which, on awakening from the past
as in osmosis
or Fellini
remembering a thought well buried,
stinks worse than subtle death
and does blend twist swap
and crease the careful bends
and broken pieces.
So
Please do not squeeze
the blind eye
cold, cheery eye
fashioned from a shoestring
drawn into a cautious bunch
and then stamped,
upright,
in slipshod condescendence ->
because
a bird in hand
or even a rat
is better than any number of bushes.
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