The Moya View

Not a Bird Song


The not not bird

listens to its not not song

in the not not tree

near my not not door.


And in its song it hears

something not not grand

compared to all the other

not not birds

in all the other not not lands.


The not not bird

doesn’t know

all the not not things

it’s suppose not to know.


It sees not the not not leaves

written in this poetry.

Smells not the not not flowers

swaying not in the not not breeze.

Hears not the buzzing of not not wings

of all the yellow not not bees

supping on all this wondrous not not majesty.


For this not not door of mine

is neither not not open

nor not not close.

For that is not the not not providence

of this not not poem to define.


I choose whether or not

all this not not nonsense

shall be or not not be

in some future not not prosody.


For those who beg to decline

I privy thee to write

your own damn not not rhyme!







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