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 . . .

Analysis, meaning and summary of Russell Edson's poem The Death Of A Fly

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