a bird in my hand

like a dying fish on steroids; the walls collapse years before the final sigh. 
try to keep on living, given a few years, even the youngest tortoise will die.
it is smelly and inevitable and awfully exciting. 
a bird in my hand and a book in the other.
it is times like these that i wish i was literate.
i would read about oranges, and look at paintings of sardines.


  1. The bird in the hand is the best part. Someone must have seen the symbolism inherent in the painting and knew to add a bird.

  2. they must've known frank o'hara as well. [why i am not a painter, 1957?] i am not convinced that this is a painting, though.




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