I'll be your bird

I used to think it was A Tiny Mexican Divorce. In a Portuguese Saloon, a fly is circling around the room. I found out it was A Tidy Mexican Divorce. This changed my mind. I was going up stairs (I think). In a town with mud walls fingerprinted by (what’s that sound?) my mother, a quick and Tidy Mexican Divorce has taken place. I'm sure they walk in separate directions; perhaps they circle around a room first, then in separate directions. They do not want to risk crossing paths again. Maybe it was a ladder I was climbing up, or maybe I was just getting into the shower. Maybe it didn't occur to me until later when I was looking for the pen that’s hard to control.

I was tidying up when I found it. The plastic casing it is in is slightly cracked. It makes my marks look scratchy like a mathematician's or a Saloon owner's. That path might not be the shortest but in time it will arrive, first to the window, then to the bar, and then eventually to the floor. The same one with warped boards and bent nails, stained with the normal things the bottoms of stomachs are layered in. It was better the other time I wrote it. I have proof. It's too old to be acting this way.

Melville said no one could write volumes on a creature like a flea because it is too small. You need a subject like the great White Whale to focus on if you want to accomplish volumes. Ah ha! I keep but sorry guard! Knowing where to put punctuation makes you an ass. I will write volumes on the flea. I will look like Polonius when compared with Proust. I need no Great White Whale. The world needs no Great White Whale. My flea and Melville's whale will walk in separate directions. I know Birds and whales can't fall in love. I remember hearing they bought a round for the sailor. He said, "You can not live in the ocean" and she said to him, "You never can live in the sky." But the ocean is filled with tears, and the sea turns into a mirror. There’s a whale in the moon when it's clear, and a bird on the tide. I'll be your tidy bird.