Field Guides - Lorrie Moore

She is like a sparrow on a fence, she is
Neglected but for crumbs
She gathers up the scraps into piles and
Pulls them into
Concentrated lines
She is likewise
Quite diminutive
Without flight to compensate
She stays
Near the ground on which she walks
She crawls sometimes

He's derivative, without influence
She gathers into confluence
It's so familiar, it's like
Everything you've never heard before

He is the tread on the tire
She's tired of the flattening out
She is the wind against the window
And when she blows he says, "Oh my my"

Like the bird beak-first into the glass
Like the bird in spasms on the grass
Like the bird beak-first into the glass
Stunned and startled, spasms on the grass

Apparently tranparency will leave you lame and lying on the lawn

He is cursing on the curb on the corner in the cold
"This is getting old," she says
She is the binding on the book that never bends
"This has gotta end," he says, "I'm as good as dead"

Written by:
Benedict Kupstas

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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