Flash!
There is a sparrow in a tree.
It croons, and calls out.
It’s just like that.
Flash!
Now the bird is dead.
It flew into a window.
Other avians will do the same.
Flash, and there is ice cream, melting over the bird,
Its speckled corpse is sticky and happy as the sweet confection
Of humanity
Perjures itself upon the hollow-boned beauty.
Then it is gone, eaten by a raccoon.
The white chickens gather around.
It is important.
In other words…
so much depends
upon
a dead meal
sparrow
glazed with
ice cream
beside the white
chickens.
The Daily Travesty 