The whitish bird,
Soon in the midst of a herd:
One, two and, soon, a third ….
Partly there to supervise their curd,
Fractionally, to catch their navigating word;
Sometimes around pacing like their king,
While their “moos” in its ears ring.
But chiefly the Egret is visiting a dining table,
Of which a reaching it is capable:
Easily, a pecking pouncing on the parasites.
That their dung-smeared bodies have chosen as sites.
At this, forever,
The ingeniously clever,
Neat-looking Cattle Egret,
Doesn’t an unhygienic meal regret.
why...the speed of light?
sit...a moment please : )
cofcof...
each neural network dimensions time fractionally as
all...
be change and relative
nothings...
with respect times days passing without exact repeats
but...
that they are here then gone as all the tomorrows are
only...
absentees with respect present hourly relative differences
counted...
numbered as a/the being of something constant about times passing
topology...
where-in/on the being of a now is but as just some momentary bubble
image...
with spherical constants representing a depth in times passing
geometry...
andt upon the constant passing absences of tomorrows yesterdays
seconds...
todays are defined in terms of what remains consistent about the
leftovers...
the sediments so to speak caught in the eddies of the geometric flow as
images...
of reflected on and offs of atomic quanta reflected in eyes at a constant
speed...
called that of light with respect to the movements in our percieved
images...
stan sand
(sorry...no time for a re-read and corrections)
Forevermore, this fantastical
free verse features
a fortuitous tale
featuring forty-four flirty
frilly fabricated faeries
fractionally forsaken,
forever fictionalized
philosophically and phonetically
free to force
feisty forest phantoms
to frenzy. These feisty forest faeries,
frequently act like
femme fatales, for whom
we fire phantoms feel free
to fixate for future faerie flocks.
Foundationally, this un-formidable free verse
is free of falsities, but fraught with fiction and fantasy.
River romances the rock in its path,
flowing around and over, offering
its gifts in season, massage, fragrant bath,
spring lilies from upper reaches, singing
songs and riverine blues and always hoping
for some acknowledgement of faithfulness.
Stolid rock, in defense, never asking
for such attention, remains unmoved, less
concerned with things that flow and things that change,
all offerings its due. Occasionally
in a bemused way, its emotions range
from cool to cold, lets, fractionally,
parts into the flow, hardly noticeable.
Eons pass, rivers path now changeable.
Hopeless I went to my mattress,
Started to stare at the wall,
Unawared, she got painted after all,
Tried to close my eyes,
but, her outline got materialized.
Desperate , I turned aside.
Attempted to clear my imagination,
Her inflection , got my attention,
Hurriedly I seeled my auditory,
but.. her intonation still apply,
Wretched, I held close cushion.
Struggled to quit my observance,
My essence , got too irascent.
Gradually my head got out of bed,
Andsaid:
You wisely accomplished what you can
but..
She'll never ever fractionally comprehend.
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