Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Paddling. Dawdling. Meandering.
These are the ‘ings’ we sing and swing the canoe around.
The corner? There is none, it’s a world without corners,
but territorial bird gangs waddling,
see us meddling, put the kettle on for the whistle
of their ‘you can’t come here’ rage.
Look, birds, I think it’s time for us all
to just chill out a bit.