trout

Diary of a Botanist: 2

Don Mee Choi

Came from, and why? Right, while its pale tongue licked my finger, the beak tweaked to the left, tweaked. Close my eyes and lay my head on the track. The pages of my diary, a runaway train. The parrot's shiny again. Here, there. I knit with your hair, for my veins are delicate. Will you come to me? My departure is delayed. Blood is never secure.

The diseased encountered a parrot, a rainbow lorikeet. It's I. Yes, like a dull mirror with blotches of rust. Ail! Trying to remember home, where I tacked next to other bags in the fridge. My experiment is done. Pine needles have been stained and bagged. Yes, needles can spill out. So bag them, bag.