i sometimes think of myself, phoning the radio station classic fm and asking them to play christopher young's something to think about (https://goo.gl/kdMemw), just so i don't have to hear another piano concerto, in #a no. 552 (i have to admit, those composers were really lazy when it came to naming their sweaty outputs), or someone asking to be played something resembling classical music with the words: smooth, soothing... dirge like?*

and where else would i wake up,
hearing several bird songs on the morn's
gloomy brow, if not here:
the wood pigeons coo coo suddenly
shortened to a quiver of tickled larynx,
or the crow's harsh phlegmatic croak,
or a magpie's modulated laughter
of the crow's croak,
or the blackbird's and the sparrow's chirping?
too early for the seagulls to make
entry into dry land about 30 miles
from the sea, but they do come,
and once a kestrel on my garden fence.