If Walls Whistled

Figure it out.
Parakeets flip upside down on their dowel ladders
While flip-flop footed tourists stroll along at Hollywood and Vine
Searching for Indian curry, the red not the yellow,
Scouring unfamiliar faces for the moment of recognition
not realizing that no one just walked past them
with his sun glasses on.
How is it that blindness is worse than death?
How is that loss of memory, anyway?

What are you doing in your fancy roles and
schleppy relationships? Okay, I won’t ask.

Be a dear, and close the door behind you.

Get off that pedestal. You’ve been there long enough.
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