Not as if only yesterday, developed in digestive fluids/exposed in skin, meat, bone/magnified as rods emerging from tongue and lips that make the playground where – eating itself – waiting resides. Thickly knitted red and white shorts/a matching vest/cochlea conversing with pigeons narrating a future. Rooted in branches/watching others swing, spin, slide/ viewing an I/evolution mediates what might and might not be – coordinates as matter – ‘ed and ‘es vie for attention and then converge.
Oh, to insist on been and become as aggressors. The human view is just one.
No, that’s not quite it.
Were there absolute lies?
Do disappointment, defence, desire, all see differently?
Cooooo coooo: forgetting imposes legitimacy.
Did those rods choose this way or that? Persisting in livedness/designs and moulds/and truths just so? Cooooo coooo: becomes and remembers. To be no longer; is not not to be.
The flock is one: webbed feet clatter on the roof most mornings; then – drawn by an invisible line – perched/ digesting crumbs, seeds and microplastics atop an inexpensive fence, held fast by forgotten plans that outline position and ownership. Shoving apple-shaped Christmas tree decorations into the wood’s absented repetitive whorls, Rose, on the other side, laughed when our landlord suggested she should play too.
Guano completes the aesthetic. And who in their proper minds would send a pair of woollen shorts for the African sun, anyway?