Memory XI

Memory XI

so there he was
that dirty old bird, there he was
sitting on the head of that iron-works statue
that miserable metal secretion:
a tribute to the dead and uninspiring of long years past.
hopping and tripping and skipping along that iron hat-brim,
that iron corn-cob, that iron-works of a nose
and pecking ferociously at the bouquet of stale roses tucked between the statue’s arms akimbo—that behemoth contraption, still-works, iron-works of a man.

azure-breasted, gold-plated, -beaked and be-clawed
this soiled aurora borealis bird clucked and chuckled and squawked.
the sad and tired student of human nature, sitting on a bench,
taking a break from his studies
watched this quivering feathered fury fluttering and frying and coocooing itself.
“what an odd, toodly, grimacing bird of a bird,”
the student thought, or rather the thought came to him.
his half-moon-glasses slipped down his nose and he did nothing,
his upper vision smearing into a runny blurriness:
jogger, viking, thief…
soldier, doctor, priest…
It could be anyone walking by,
but that bird—those clacked and clenching claws—
and its feathers were soon parted and the colors bled and bled
spreading across the dripping iron,
feathers settling down about the feet and waist of the statue.
the student found himself knee-deep in blue and red and purple feathers:
those off-puttings of a depraved and balding hopping-mad bird of a feather.

now, those glasses, those crutchy protuberances,
slide fully off his nose, slip down his shirt-front and off his legs,
crinkling on the ground.
and now his lined and wrinkled world is smoothed over
hard and harsh details blearing into a distance
and this gives him comfort, comfort he thought he’d lost.
and the bird, sees him there, sees him blinking—
tears are running down his nose—
haply happily in the morning delight.
this bird flaps down in all its glory,
flaps down and pecks out this student’s eyes.
“oh how delightful,” the student sighs
and settles into the sleep of the dead.


I don’t remember anything about writing this one, but I’m fascinated by it.

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