We are people of hope.
The crows, although scavengers
Are monogamous, and wiser
Than any avian counterpart.
I wonder are crows, sapiosexuals?
We search for the highest point,
Only to fall. Acme is both
A pinnacle and an agent
Of Murphy’s law; what wily coyote
Knows best. We are illogicians
In the soap operas of life.
And in that instinct to love,
We hold our hearts on a sleeve,
The bread we try valiantly
To turn to Manna,
While falling and rising,
In cycles of crumbing
And leavening.
