I knew this type of thing would require special shoes, so I shined my Dock Martins and in ten minutes I was in the park, 3AM with a flashlight and a sketchbook.
It wasn't long before I found what I was looking for, what we're all looking for when you get right down to it. I was on the bridge over where the bumper boats go in the waking hours and across the the rippled reflection of the crescent moon floated a bird carcass. It's eyes were the moist new home of maggots growing fat. It's stomach was bloated, some bacteria waiting to burst out, the feathers were tattered and ruffled and plucked and wet and criss-crossed and slovenly and here they were gone, and there there were too many, very apropos.
I sketched eight pictures of that bird in various stages of the night, eight sheens of the moon.
And then I took of my glasses and my shirt and yelled, "FOR I AM BOYANG HOU!"
No comments:
Post a Comment