Hell, I should have known when I said to myself "Glass Rooster." We no longer live in a society that values Murano glass doodles. They have gone from high class to bad taste to thrift stores to, probably, landfill. The Venn diagram bubble of people who collect Murano animals does not heavily overlap the bubble of people who read and write prose poems, though admittedly more so than does the bubble of people who collect Lladro, which I refuse to believe is even a thing. It's the MOTHER, stupid. It's equally oedipal for everyone, seems like. The thing of your mother's you're supposed to admire and desire, the thing you weren't supposed to touch, but you always did. And somehow it never succeeds in being anything else but a glass rooster in the final analysis. The symbol doesn't take, but the dust does. Some of those roosters aren't even from Italy, but somehow the ones that are, are the worst, speaking words of wisdom, BUST ME!