It was

something my friend said about failing and 
falling. Failing countless times. That went through 
the roof of my mouth like a barb at the end of a line. 
Of course I knew that. It's also true that a flock 
of shoebills in mangy denim coats stepped right up 
to a fisherman and fixed him with their baleful 
eye, before letting a fusillade loose from their beaks. 
It's tempting, but you can't take something like that 
too personally. Kind of like how lilies placed right 
smack in the middle of a bouquet look ravishing up
until you think they smell like your funeral. Flowers,
too, fail and fall before they return. You torch then
thoroughly crack the roof of the custard to get
to the heart that still is sweet, not ruined.