Who is responsible for that print,

is it a native or an acquired?

Does this island have other parrots on it

and if it does, what do they speak,

will we come to an understanding? Why should

we parrots rely on the signs of others,

sighs of others, what might

our proprietary language look like,

black tongue of the soul, Adamic

propositions (Adam=first parrot)?

What might I look like

squeaking it, petit-four-eyed

featherless biped: whom

might I accost, abandon—

should my glossary lose its gloss,

devolve to some glossolalia,

even a howl-vowel?

Those who speak with fake flowers

have all sorts of take powers,

so there. O you alien parrots, alien

alien parrots, atomic atamans

of yellow beaks and black tongues,

dragons without dragomans, heads

cocked in arboreal garrets

watching, in your breadth

and depth holding your breath and death,

come out come out

wherever you are.