::11:09:08::

::: The Ballet for a Crow performed for and by a Seagull :::

I could fly with this seat,
there to here,
my wasp-
undue analytical stings.

I know your soul-
detested, sided,
peppered with the same diseases
- ambitious in attempt, droning with flavor.

A bitter end is necessary-
completing the irony
written mirrored,
for those who read backwards.

I tried your Braille;
zitted information-
same to my brain
as loving blindly.

You touch me;
words beyond thought,
left dangling from a tree-
that never grew.

Lest-er-is-be this can’t live;
danger-pounded, Brooklyn-winded,
grod-
build a gondola, please?

Reverberating time with harmonics;
Bass notes too-
children lastly sinking first, clinging
without white circles.

Written by: ~ Jeremiah D. Reeves