July 17, 2020Bioman, Flash, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Uncategorized Leave a comment OSTRICH! (IN THIS POEM YOU DON’T SEE WHAT’S COMING HENCE THE NAME) Is life and life force so different in all of us that the mist from the trees yet harvests the moon in a delta true mesa of hard rock and lime? What do the records say of the man who was king here for more than a day? I want to be he who knows when to stand and when to run away through the wheat fields and dew of many a blue day. It isn’t the word of the satisfied man that makes all the men of the manta ray glue their tiny red oyster-clocks onto the verge of the road. COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020 Share this:TwitterFacebookPrintLinkedInEmailLike this:Like Loading...