that flies Truth in the face

in a sizzling camouflage
of lathered howling heights
towards) th'black backwards

Little deserves, th'Crow,
the anchor of his mask: a blunt
Grace trembling at its gossamer
amidst the awful lies
of life, of love's blunders,

of folly's long leaps,
of Springs about th'Stillness
but legs galore

like disingenuous spiders at work
on their own confession box,

bounding th'Cosmos
in one quick stride

above its last lusters
Little deserves

swaying Th'Wind by a feather's
influence, & faked
to a formula             

       (th'hustling Who )
bride to an unbridled ride,
little deserves, the black

crow, burnt to an overflowing
who knows
against th'caution of Care

making us such little (a) place
--a contemptuous jump
scaring us loggers
ruddy & rough

high on our getting

with its whispering
false alarms (for sure
false alarms)

of trees falling

out of grace.