Create the picture you wish to show Relieve my mind before I blow. Use my hand, I’ll take the chance, I trust you with my mind and limb Sing to me your silent hymn Sedate me with your loving trance, Trace your world upon this pale land.
I am a lone raven high above the canyon wall circling up, then down as hikers make their way on the old mule trail up to a series of switch-backs opening into a meadow where many options prevail going east, going west before turning back north to the mountain called Lemmon.
I am a lone raven blessed to fly above other mortals circling up, then down but still, I work hard to fly seeing images of life below inspiration of an alien being a curious extrovert, I call out taken as a signal by some just a lot of noise by others still unnoticed by others neutral touches interwoven.
. . . beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone beware the average man the average woman beware their love, their love is average seeks average
but there is genius in their hatred there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you to kill anybody not wanting solitude not understanding solitude they will attempt to destroy anything that differs from their own not being able to create art they will not understand art they will consider their failure as creators only as a failure of the world not being able to love fully they will believe your love incomplete and then they will hate you and their hatred will be perfect . . .
— from The Genious of the Crowd by Charles Bukowski
Poetry is read by the lovers of poetry and heard by some move they coax to the cafe or the district library for a bifocal reading. Lovers of poetry may total a million people on the whole planet. Fewer than the players of skat.
“Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.” The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes. “Say ‘Nevermore,'” said Shadow. “Fuck you,” said the raven.”