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The window was open a bit,
like parted lips, and from its
mouth came songs to interrupt
my dreams.
It was more than interruption.
It was an integration of
of mixed language and trills
and dreamscape.
As if Hitchcock put sub-titles
underneath their chirps and
squawks and whistles and
a foreign film rolled on.
The robins and the grackles
sub-titles started wriggling
under them like worms
in the dirt.
“You know Grack, why is it
we have wings and we are
sent to the soil to get
breakfast?”
“I have, I’ve, I’ve, I’ve
gotten that conversation
reeling in my brain too.
Robin, oh, if I were a bird
I would fly away from here.”
“Sometimes I pretend I am
a rabbit…hopping down here
from worm hole to worm
hole.”
“ I I I feel the earth move
under my my my feet, I
feel the sky tumbling down,
a tumbling down.”
“Hey, get real, that’s
groceries you’re hoppin’
past friend. Let’s see a
little neck action over there!”
“Now, now, don’t you you you
get a little feather bent over
feeding your little ones
second hand goods. I mean
worms are are are gross
enough the first time.”
“Not the huge earth worms,
hey watch this…”
It was then I started to wake
when I saw the big
orange breast dip and
yank an earth worm like
scarves from a sleeve.
Pulling and pulling and
pulling a gewy dirt soil
freckled beast and sucked
it in like linguini. The robin
stood among the blades
perfectly still for 13 seconds
and then cast the worm
out.
And there it lay, divided in
three equal sections
by square knots.
The robin said nothing,
jutted out it’s chest
and nodded and
ascended like a
harrier for a moment,
and then flew away.
The grackle stood
with its beak hanging open.
“Well, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll be.”
Posted for one shot where poets do their poeting.
Gerald the Writer 
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