They say we’ve consumed the Kool-Aid of our tainted history.
That we’re caught in a matrix of endlessly repeating fake tricks.
That we’re abracadabraless when it comes to sprouting wings to soar towards new freedoms.
The list goes on and on.
Guess you can say blackbirds have at least shown us a little mercy by stopping at 12 + 1—a baker’s dozen of observations. Hot contemplation, fresh outta the oven.
Blackbirds don’t care how many ways we look at them. They’re soul shapers, song makers, dream shakers.
Blackbirds don’t need to color themselves anything other than what they are to be considered pure poetry.
RichRant 