The birds scream when they sing?
A voice of liberty laments underneath my skull. Is it infiltrated?
The biscuits are hard and dry, not even the rettery
Of honey on, can’t alter their unattractive austerity.
Cling! Discarded another emaciated sight of inequitable chagrin.
The hopping crickets glide into the deepest indomitable green.
Open the book, the last written page,
Patiently read at the dim lamp’s light.
Underline the spirits, ensphere the tender
And the unbiased’s one bright palpations.
Devour the raw inspirations, their remembrance is supreme.