To bleed the binary
And speak fluent touch and
jaguar yawn
Is that asking for too much?

Think on it, friend

But there is no time to think
The hands circling
Always circling
Losing their clutch

Sloth
Downed from
The canopy

Little small
Specks of ****
Will be the end of him

All that is accomplished in cubes
-time well spent-
Mustn't ever reach
A white-eared Sibia
Alighting a Sakura tree flush in pink
Drenched
in the cool warm glow
Of a winter star that now must go

Swift quarter-inch turns of the head
Lazily nimble
In its slim space
-it could even fly away if it so wishes-

While he
files away widgets

His time is near
He feels it
thread stripped
From the twist the twist