Achoo echoed through
so I threw the book, graciously,
and it flew with Grace.

It flew then flattened to the ground,
wings spread open,
two red arms,
hard bound.

The paper dropped to page one,
the beginning,
and I knew
I didn't need to read
someplace later.

The bulk of that book, the bird, was
a lung,
woo zing out a satisfied air.
The pages then quickly turned,
flattened.

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