A bird's song, a churchgoer waiting the arrival of a new priest, a near bell. How lonely to be a prophet with wings, to eat your weight's worth daily. Whitman, what a shame that the worms got you. The sky is larger than my black window winking at smokers in the alley. No, a taxi is honking for a Moses lookalike, it won't stop honking, nightingale with a meter.
Clouds arrive like sailors used to monsters.
Trees are nearer books. Suddenly pain pulls me back to this planet.