It's a bird! It's a plane!
Why can't it be a man?
Honey! Honey! he said
as she cycled down the road
sounds of children
in the near distance
—Honey! You forgot
the shopping list!
Suddenly a gentle
but firm wind pushes
against his breastbone
his arms instinctively
throw themselves back
and his legs belong to
Baryshnikov they're
not his anymore
he's, he's floating, rising
the children's voices
spin by like he's the merry-go-round
and yet he rises
why is this happening
what the hell was in that
cereal she gave me this morning?
Could it be
the coffee?
Oh God!
It's the bee pollen
He knows now the entire
spoonful was too much
she warned him: Only a taste
only a few granules
and now look
Where is she?
Why doesn't she
see what's going on?
Why doesn't she
turn around?
Can't
she
see?
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