WEAVER BIRD

WEAVER BIRD

always on the farm:
flash of bright yellow
across my
      line of sight

furiously at work
building their nests

chirpy
masters of
twig engineering
       brandishing their
golden purpose

meanwhile, since we
are on the subject of
nest-building
       and things
with wings

let us observe old Nick
leaving his helo
having just be ferried

from quite distant shore
to Mediterranean ship

pausing a moment to
stroke brash steel,
sculpted aluminum

of the true
spirituality of the war machine
lover
     extraordinaire
paramour to the extreme

blowing kisses to his image
where
    reflected in such surfaces

every drop of bloodlust
contained in booklet form
in jacket
      inner pocket

there
     blueprint
              of a world gone skew

slavery redeemed
   refreshed anew

Sun
   itself

blind to the glaring ironies

so much
       to fix with

all this weaving

.