The Black Helicopters Poem by Leslie Philibert
The Black Helicopters
Not even a shift in the night
Or a bass chuka chuka,
They will minstrelize the humble sellers
Of shrunken, dusty oranges
Maybe a bad mouth
Passed words to the birdman
To crack open the sky,
A black walnut, half brain
A burnt ball of string;
Bags of sudden song
Hot and hot and hot;
Nothing to put back together.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
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5/5/2024 4:27:12 PM # 1.0.0.1119
