canary isles

Our birdie named Birb died; he couldn’t spell his own name
The house is full of sobbing children
The cage curtains are drawn, the orange hearse
Yes lovey, but from now on everything will be like you always imagined it
Yes lovey, it will be five hundred million years before we die
Yes I will live in an orangerie, a conservatory, redolent with citrus and blooming with parakeets parrots canaries, my own canary isles
Yes you will come and have orange-blossom tea with me from gold-rimmed bone china teacups
I will be spry white wise
You will never need to take care of me
I will never piss myself, never forget words letters numbers, any of your golden hairs, all of them in silver lockets
I will never forget you
We will never be those people who live together as baby monkey and monkey mama
And then never see each other again because they don’t like each other’s thoughts
It’s just what happened today, it was highly irregular
Yes lovey, in my old age of ivory, a canary conservatory, a whole rookery, a sanctuary of birds under triangles of glass and refracted light
A goldmine of canaries

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