Birds Sylvia communis

How we teet the sweets, stiff Mr.
(no-lipped and me). Some leather
lands on our breakfast
like birds. Absurd!

They sneak the sheets
off our pancake. Some round-
table percussions suggest bees
are seizing the cherry
jam! See how halfsized
my glass now.

It's a starry, starry state.
He glowers. To the head
of birds I say. Quick! Be sleep!
And drop the hospitable
eye out.