Mark Trail’s funny fliers, A Bill Berkson Birthday Ode
To be born in August!
the month that rips out
the basting and the seasonal
suit holds together or
lets go and
you leap naked into life
and airborne greet September
October: ripe sun, foodstuffs,
colored leaves, in a flood
pouring like water. Farmer
Gull goes off for a winter
rest. You are alone
though at one with far-
mers, framers, ships,
ships’ radio operators,
orators, opera stars,
and all one thought
you slice the water
and it flies from you
“nitidus –a –um” words
shining as pebbles
the sea shifts and chews
School! each soaring open mouthed chanting
Dog Yellow Sky, Giant Mashed Potato Scoop
Fog Balls, Tropic Thunderburst raining
black strokes on green reflective water
you in your passage charge with blue
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