for solace from nature.
There is a sparrow
in a branch. It turns
its back on me and shits.
No one ever said birds
only sing; but I read
poetry and am distant
from the truth of the
pastoral. The joy of the
bird is a pathetic fallacy.
Besides it's cold out
and I would rather read
an Ode to a Sparrow
than listen to one sing
while it defecates white
slime down my window.
2 comments:
when reality is shit, turn to poetry... sounds like a good plan ;]
The narrator would rather read a poetic bird than experience the reality of one, yet he presents us with the actuality: you have a bird, you’re gonna have crap.
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