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Wednesday, April 17, 2024



“In Paradise, roasted pigeons fly into your mouth.”--Werner Herzog in Fata Morgana

A fly once flew into my mouth
I think a bee or wasp
It's been long ago
Since then I've been
Able to keep my mouth shut
Only my fingers slam out words
That I can't retract
Some I chew on for years
Some actions also

Its those pigeons I worry about
Are the bones soft
Is there any lead shot
Hiding in the wings
And feathers
We're they plucked before cooking

Is Herzog watching me
Or is he throwing those pigeons
At people who made it to paradise
But the first thing is a bird
Slammed into my mouth
I'm against forced feeding
Especially when I'm dead
Or about to be

Let me go someplace
Without the rats of the air
And just who besides Herzog
Thinks force feeding pigeons
Is an elegant action in paradise
Is paradise a place to eat
I want to read the review
In the Times or Tribune
Is there only pigeon
Or something else on the menu
If godd controls this place
What's he got against pigeons
That he has to kack and roast them
Woo, this place might not be for me
I come from beef country
Imagine getting hit in the pie hole
With a twelve hundred pound
Barbequed steer hooves and all
More sauce please

Barry G. Wick

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