I am drawn to the tidiness of proverbs
little zingers
that make you nod
and think you have gotten to the pulp
of a thing
like how you can know a person
by the books they keep
but it’s not true
you know only the stomach
of their brain
a naïve hunger that tends
to want more
of the same
it’s like thinking you know
a bird
by the wire
he sits on
life is unkempt
people die
too soon
all there is to do
is pay attention to the litter
of minutes that fling from the day
and catch some
on your tongue
like snowflakes
each one
a tiny perfect story
a life written in ice
before it melts
and returns home
to the sea.
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