Bullock's orioles, namer cred, for which
I spare no intentional attention
to find the namer's bio, or even spend much time
wondering why men with names like
Bullock need the degree of fame,
there must be a spectrum, of fame, or worth,
a curve on an xy flatness depicting data points
of value, this to that,
high from low, long or short
here nor there, today the birds are being curioser
and kurio-ish, as if
playing a role in my reality, this one
with you
as dear reader the life force pulling lines from
-- Marcus Aurelius and C. G. Jung (in his waning days)
-- influencive words from men at leisure
-- to constitute a self
-- aware of you, dear reader, without you, no word
believes itself, per se,
beautiful for no intended reason. Ask that yellow fellow,
sipping sugar water,
why are you so beautiful. He takes no pride in saying,
I am a Bullock's Oriole.
A morning spent well. As far as I can tell.
