Drinking bird

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The drinking bird is drinking.

And I sit here, idle, thinking.

A full encyclopedia would not give me an inkling

What does it dream, and what is the theme,

Now the bird dips its head into the stream.

Ever since it found the water,

It never flew away.

At night it's cold and then gets hotter

The bird will always stay.

Burning leaves leak smoky thickness upwind, in the West.

It settles in and threatens sickness, in the drinking bird's chest.

The drinking bird rocks forward, staring downward at the water's edge

It stands on dirt with little effort, tilting back and forth.

Taking little sips of liquid, has become its pledge

It made a pledge to stand on the edge and to never fly away,

I think it stands there when you sleep, and on this very day.

When you dine with friends in an outdoor restaurant and you think about what they're thinking while noticing their blinking

and when the sun goes down and the tide goes up and your friends go home and you're stoned alone and sinking

It might cross your mind that no one else is alone and the world will always change, but there stands a silent drone,

solitary, stoic and so thoughtful that it eliminated every possible thought, never blinking or thinking.

Only drinking. Its thirst will not be quenched by water or any other drink,

Because that's not what it's not thirsty for, as some skeptics might think...

The drinking bird which never thinks will take no break to squawk.

The thoughtless bird that never blinks is thirsty for the clock. Time is its favorite beverage.

Whether it be the time it takes for the stream to dry or the time it takes for its body to die,

On only this does it rely.

While you are in the shower and while I write this prophecy

We both change by the hour, and gain a slightly new identity.

This is not the way of the bird. The bird is the word that I heard which stirred the herd of rabbits

each of all who ran by intuitive habits in the same direction to the cranial conception

that the bird is time's only exemption.

The drinking bird waits, but does not wait, because time is already here.

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