Scout & Birdie
Scout & Birdie

As far as noise starts things,
profound idleness has the power to hold my heart,
so hold my heart and threaten naught of harm.
Turn to your super-sensuous stringed instrument
as though warm milk were trickling out of it,
and cook until you get a bit of color.
I’ll monitor it when it’s all over.
Is this a party or a waste of time?
You have to step on ten people to get a dollar.
Is it slipping on a banana peel? I used to play that game
with my youth full of fire, who shall remain nameless.
The pleasure of it may not be understated or understood.
When a little baby is born in the immediate neighborhood,
it’s going to be much better for you.

Is it a partnership? There’s already an epidemic to relate.
To get to it, I have completely turned to dust.
When it gets dark, I tow your totemic ancestor, or heart, away.
I swallow a donut in the rain.
That’s when the stipend is born again,
only to pass through my hand
at the beginning of each opponent’s upkeep.

Remember the opponent’s upkeep.
Here’s a lotus mat for a lovesick girl.
Not much thought went into it, but a life did.
Life hurled an object in a straight line.
Then the line slept, and I went to the vet
in our elevator, a crabbed house with a wheel.
I prefer the lie that lives in the groundswell.
Our book is that, and an unappetizing remnant
that graces what it subverts.