If each black Swan must be a question mark,
what does that make of the lowly black sheep
who must baa and bay with bloodshot, soot eyes
while its diamond heart lies in carbon fleece:
Nature's so floozy when she lets in Gods
to see her matrix in the golden pond
where seven patos born from seven pods
did persecute the eighth down the glass sand:
And they chased him into the oil, smudged
his golden coat with slick, gooey darkness
and then laughed and laughed as the seasons budged
and it was spring! Time to clean up the mess!:
And he dipped his plume in the font de oro,
and was reborn a living, dying crow.
urbansonnets 