The Cold Tap Sings

Poem three in my univocalist suite … it’s called ‘Twitching’.

***

Twitching

First light.
Chill mist.
Nihilistic swifts
in whirligigs
kiss wingtips;
siskins
lit with indistinct light
sing:
writing is instinct.
Writing is instinct
imprinting infinity.

***

You can read the other poems in the univocalist suite, as well as a potted history of the form, here.