Tuesday, May 30, 2006

WYSIWYG (2nd-ish draft)

Today --
I'm not lying --
today, there sat
the head of a bird
outside the office building.
It was not moving.
It was on the concrete.
It had been separated
from its body somehow.
It had been cleanly ripped.
It was a mere suggestion of a bird,
like a poem,
like hope without feathers,
like Aristotle
and his legless chair,

ergo I cannot definitively say
whether it was alive or dead.

Probably it was
once alive and then,
shortly after that,
it was dead.

iff
I fear a bird
murdered loose
in the skies.

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