i have vivid visions always of birds with wings of glue.
whatever’s parasitic on me sticks to you:
you parrot back to me constantly, worms in your craw
with rhetoric unsightly and garishly raw

repeat the tele-v like a good birdie
does polly want a *******? have a drink on me
i pick your sort like dandelions puffed
ridiculously. i never really knew what death means
but i have an inkling
of a feeling