Thursday, June 18, 2015


Of course—the little trumpeter swan
was born

and bred 
not to bother 
much with flying, but instead—

to spend her time communicating
as big 
and important of things—as 

no other vessel, 
no instrument
or utensil 
or other creature on wings 

could ever dare 
accommodate or conceive!
But eventually 

the strain of trying to hang on
and to render
such stuff

proved just 
too dizzying
and just too tough;

and she slipped
and toppled down
from the huge mountain
of her best-selling
discursive methods.

But at that moment, 
the truth—
so far 

as she could see it
from the pretty incredible 
view on the way down—finally dawned 

that there was really 
nothing out there
larger than life was.

And it was only then—
that she finally
was able

to rediscover 
the one single partial—the open pitch

she felt
she was actually
destined to sing!
And then—

just to blare it!
with no thought whatsoever  

concerning the best 
or most effective way 
of writing the thing down.