FROM CHAOS
From low, the semi-elongated-dwarf–bird-cat looks up at the
absurd magnanimity of the metropolis and sighs. A cloud drops low and showers
the steps before him. He will go no further.
Up in a bone tree in the high part of the city, a squat owl
surveys everything. He has nothing wise or profound to say. He is looking for
mice.
It is left to a parakeet busy sucking on the trail of a
tsetse fly to explain but it’ll take a near eternity to hear his words, as
birds either cannot speak or we cannot understand them if they do.
No matter, we know a bird who swallowed a fly . . .
