Nightingale

Thursday in the asylum,
but out by Friday.
Seeing through windows
Choice words
Whispering in low winter voices:
Birds may fly, but loves mostly erratic.

Fourteen
Voices
Before sunrise
Piping
like
Stravinsky's Nightingale.

Lingering to watch reflections
prancing about.
Wretched in taste and in style.
Clapclapclap
Lovely.

Summer is my love
and winter thy Mistress.

The End

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