Mudlark No. 47 (2012)

Black Rubber Birds Take Time

Dancing of the earth the earth cracked open the steam of the earth opening in 
the vented the venting dancing open the sibilant dancing of steam of the earth 
cracked if in opening in how the grilling of the black rubber birds takes time.

We have heard these stories, seen the dried knots of undigested bone, heavier 
now in waking, water is life, water is life.  Off in the off-under one wave tied 
to a crosshatch wave is as above a sky enciphered as sign, opening, the black 

rubber birds with the smoke pit polestar take a nervous look around. Nothing
is ever known in or of the earth in exactly the way a long bone makes a meal.  
Steam becomes what steam becomes. Bone is. Snap-fires carpet the stalking.

Jeffrey Little | Fail-Shine and the What Nothing Today
Contents | Mudlark No. 47 (2012)