dMo's blog

Thursday, October 18, 2007

swan: big graceful mean bird. not so white up close as it appears from afar. don't get too close, mind, that beak'll tear your nuts off. not that i blame him all these silly humans gawking & clipping wings to keep him in the pond. boston garden. where the boats are modelled after birds on some whim -- no respect, i tell you. Up close he's actually light grey where the feathers meet the body. and his tongue is black -- like his eyes. a swooping neck and a wingspan twice its length. he floats, cause he cannot fly. if he could, he'd be gone in a heartbeat & he'd shit all over this town - cars, cyclists, pedestrians, trees, buildings and pigeons. but now he floats, an illusion of tranquility. the foiled locomotion bulging, not so gracefully in the fold of his wings, like an untamed erection. now he floats & picks the scraps the humans leave for him, & chases it down with whatever paltry grass & algae he can muster in this man made cesspool -- at the very least they could keep it clean for him -- come on now. this is not the bird i was taught to love in school, reading EB White... This is not the bird memorialized in romantic songs and poems. This is not the bird mascotting expensive crystal. This is not the symbol. This is the reality. This is nature in its sublimated furious glory.