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.

2 comments:

  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.

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  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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