from The way birds become homonyms: an aviaryJoseph Bradshaw
to say as birds as well as words * The knowledge not of the century, you were saying, but of birds. "How dare you pronounce the world," you said "as birdswept." Weather I say is the knowledge not of sorrow, but of windows, and past them smoke, fatal evidence of birds. If they'd stop singing, I'd talk of music. Because my hands smell like water, like how the beak and the charred parts of the neck both smell like water. I'd say I don't believe water, everything under its sucking current, cement.
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