the bird of love is in the form of much of a heart. this
shape [informs] stands up to the sands of time [with
stands]. i knew this when i dug it up in arkansas: a lost
blue purse of a bird upon a rock full of scant thunder;
the shape of a grub but as large as a potato, it would
swallow tinder, climb some wings to create another
emperor. a man laughs as he catches a frisbee.
the bird of love forms much of his art. it doesn’t
wear any earthworms when it flies into bed.
someone is always waiting for it there. i think
the name of the bird is ketterling. when it flies
its wings are spoiled by the sounds of waves
from i reckon a shallow body. the bird flies
behind the sunshine and over the telephone
pole. the bird of love chalks it up to heart. it
hops jagged rock like a cormorant, thinking about
peeling an ion, discovering the essence of a hot world.
i love catching it on the blue towel. i dig and i dig
and the sky seems to crack. the name of the bird is
kettlepiper and it always stays in such great shape.
