trying to get back to the Main Thing (again : #lost count)

so Robert the robin-headed robot
was relaxing one Sunday afternoon
on the cement bench by the basin
where birds now and then bathed rains
yesterday freshened and where three oak
leaves leapt from their high places
just to see if they could learn

to float and if so how they’d like it,
which was the primary error
for though they were three oak leaves
their shapes were not spat out of a mimeograph
contraption and could not uniformly
love their adventure and leaves left in the tall
bough the wind brought sway sips to, let

their sorrowful sobs freely flow
and didn’t mind mocking crows drinking wine
in the White Pine Terrace, meaning the crows
drinking wine in the White Pine Terrace
mocked the sobbing leaves left in the bough,
that they should’ve spared more nuts for education
or the encouragement of individuation

in individuality,
like the impossibility
for any two much less three
leaves from any tree class to like
anything in the exact same ways – what all
failed to see was the photogenic
quality the three floating oak leaves

brought to the rain-freshened basin
birds now and then bathed in. Anyway,
along strolled Sonny Youngblood, a skunk
of the locale, who was almost always
walking on mega-hits from his homemade
opioid carpet-cloud as Sonny Youngblood,
a skunk of the locale, walked this moment

as he strolled along, and began to pass
Robert the robin-headed robot
and suddenly stopped and asked Robert
the robin-headed robot to please
whip out his harp and bring purple note cascades
to what remained of this day and Robert
the robin-headed robot shrugged and said why not.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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