Crows of Blue - by SkyKing Voom

Ware the Jabbercrows my son! Wacked out; drugged out; coked and toked, no random course they fly, arcs, zooms, and swirls charted by crystal meth they look. When they come to a fork in the road they take it; not knowing where they're going they fly somewhere else. (Yogi and Toby called that one!).

Perhaps a nightmare? Daymare? Bubbles in the air; stars in the eyes; orbs aplenty; undersea or oversky? where oh where do these crows fly?

Oh well, perhaps it's the color, the form, the shapes? Up there; in the corner; is that Starry Night? A glimpse of Van Gough? A splash of Kadinsky flows in yellow perhaps? A flowing smoothness of Arp? Are these crows luminist? What's their angle? Why don't they fly straight?

I know; I know; I finally understand! Is a study of form over function? No, perhaps not; I'm quite addled; lost; nothing to say. Guess I'll stop today.