Little Squirrel

Little squirrel. Sunday, May 22, 2016. Grove near the round sparrow. Hit by car. The avenue of heroes. Violence is a confusing and ugly addition to any vista. I don’t think I like the sun. Garbage is strewn across the landscape like lines of poetry. People are a disappointment. All hail the little guys, the young ones, the old ones. Quitters never win, and winners never learn. Do elephants really go to the same place to die? I sound depressed.There are no answers in graveyards, only questions. Is this what Alan Lomax would’ve sounded like if he was only given a microphone and a Ouija board? The constant swirl and swell of noise is an undertow pulling us into a panicked numbness. Lightly, up above, as if seen from the bottom of a lake, the birds offer tiny, distinct, starlight specks of sound to help you navigate to a better world- an older world. LinkedIn profiles of the saints; references upon request. Another one you probably need earphones for, not that they will help.