(no subject)

You're a sculpture you made of yourself, you think, while looking at the sculpture you think you made but didn't of someone you aren't. What can you do in the end but leave the hall of yous in polite apathy and walk out into weather until you find someone fixing a bird. What's that tool you ask and are told it's a felter. A felter holds the wings back and apart. You try it on your fingers. Your fingerprint ridges feel feathery. This is a dream but after in traffic you notice a season old sock's been removed from the day.