balderdash horatio jitters out front dancing to the raindrops.
every second syllable is like some leggy filly full of spice and vinegar.
i step out into the moonlight and the howling begins before i’m even thinking.
neighbors close their windows and disconnect thier phones, oh wait, they can’t do that anymore.
the century is changing color like a clear glass of water with a new drop of red ink every 5 minutes.
the trees look sleepy and peaceful wearing the misty morning but they live so long what would i know.
finally something and then something else but once again it is only the beginning of the mystery.
Crow kept telling Mr. Bones
that he wanted to fly to the sun.
Mr. Bones tilted his hat back and looked at Crow and yawned.
“It’s been done,” said Mr. Bones, “Icarus, for one…and––you––too,
remember? You’ve done it before––look how that turned out.”
“Not all that bad,” said Crow, “I’m still here, aren’t I? Besides,
this look of burnt to a crisp charred black is rather fashionable in the long run, eh?
So, what’s the harm?”
“Do what you want,” said Mr. Bones. “No way I want to talk you out of it.
But, I’m curious. . . . what’s the big motivation to fly to the sun all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know,” said Crow, “I mean, you gotta do something, right?
You gotta do something. . . . I’m down here–– the sun is up there––
I think it’s time to tango.” And then Crow flew, straight up, to the top
of the sky.