There was once a man who disguised himself as a 
housefly and went about the neighborhood depositing 
flyspecks.
  Well, he has to do something hasn't he? said someone to 
someone else.
  Of course, said someone else back to someone.
  Then what's all the fuss? said someone to someone else.
  Who's fussing? I'm just saying that if he doesn't get off the 
wall of that building the police will have to shoot him off.
  Oh that, of course, there's nothing so engaging as a dead 
fly.
  I love dead flies, the way they remind me of individuals 
who have met their fate . . .

Poet: Russell Edson
Poem: The Death Of A Fly

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