Birds made of bronze do not fly but they sing when stricken on their armored plumage with a conductor's baton of imagination. Tame from birth no matter where you anchor the fowl it remains still in a cast moment. The wind doesn't ruffle a feather. You never worry about blinks. —Alex Nodopaka #AlexNodopaka
The Onion Poem
I suggest when you have a writer's block
start peeling each overlapping line of your poem
and create a paper ball that can be fitted inside a tube of thickened paper also called cardboard,
i.e., hardened tubular papier-mâché like those sophisticated in the French tongue would call it.
It goes like this with the first line spelling, how do cars avoid driving straight to the beach? Were they to use a metaphor like the abysmal undulating void it would be so