Or Gram Parsons


The quickest way to lose me
is to write about
a finch, a wren, or a snowy egret.

I mean, for fuck’s sake.

Don’t write about a sparrow
and expect me to be happy.

If it has to be about a bird,
make it about a penguin
or a chicken
or David Crosby
with his variant spelling.
Vultures are sometimes fine,
but for the love of God,
read the room.

The quickest way to wither
is to write about flowers, any sort.

Clouds,
sunshine,
dewy grass.

Shoot the flowers
out of a cannon, maybe.

Let them knock a bird
right out of the sky.

Let a cat be waiting.

That’s the show.
That’s how it’s done.

Bye bye, birdie.

That’s when I’ll
be back.