The Correction

Hummingbird, green heron and I feed, heed
each other’s chirp, skeow, sliding glass screed.
In the square box, I tuned and cohered, here
my clumsy machinations make it clear

I’m out of sync with my earth mother. Grind
away these toxic thoughts, the viral mind
infested in the genocidal foam
from fervent mindless waves derived by drones

who can’t imagine, so articulate
the programs coded by alien spate.
Prudent silence cannot effectuate
error correction. Grounded now we wake.

Inspired by: Foam, Grind, Articulate and Prudent.