# today a blackbird was singing on the grass you'd never seen that before; a bird singing on the lawn in front of you anthropomorphically it seemed perfectly happy in the sunshine pecking for worms it's bright yellow-orange beak a delight against glossy black plumage you smiled and began to think about how brains consider 'beauty' about concerns over scientific reductionism generally the bird wandered off still singing perfectly oblivious - perhaps even to itself and you hoped you'd not end up composing another of those awful online poems where even the simplest of images - a bird singing on a lawn becomes just another useless / symbolic image the wandering poet's forever ontologically flightless soul - or whatever // republic of bob