His mind was too often like the craggy fortress
of a tree, across the street
from the dismal heap of aluminum
and wood where he woke
and from which he would quickly make forth
in a daze each gauzy morning—
barren, and ragged with the twice-frozen January cold, yet
still extremely full
with countless itinerant chirping little scissors of birds,
each clamped, so scrawny tight,
and yet—so obstinate as to impose upon
the fierce knotty preponderance
of just one, or two, or perhaps three
at the very most,
of its—two or three dozen-fold
cache of worthy limbs.
