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DECEMBER 22ND, 1997, LOVE IS A VERB
A bird hopped down the warm tin on the roof next door, she peeped into my window telling me to become a drop-out, the bird on the roof has been a drop-out for a long time, or precisely for as long as the sun has dried and warmed her feathers, she has not worried about your climb to power or material security, which has suited her life just fine, so now when people ask me what I do, I say what the bird told me to, that is, 'I am a drop-out,' and when they ask 'why?' I say, 'because the black bird told me to do just that', also that, 'the lame factory farmed sow in the stall who has never seen sunlight, and who has never been able to turn around with the word 'kill' sprayed onto her back in crimson paint, doesn't care what her rescuer looks like, sometimes they spray 'cull' but then they say what they really mean, I have dropped off the tree like a piece of ripe fruit, I have dropped out, it takes too much effort to be loved in this world but not if you have a dog, you soon forget about your sexuality at the slaughterhouse, and if you don't there's something wrong with you, the city slum mouse has no one except for its own hunger, be grateful for the dinner you cooked tonight, as grateful as the mouse was to receive the crumbs that fell to the kitchen lino, the gentle battery hen whom I carried to safety does not judge me, love is a verb, it is racing without worry. |
