Many birds entered his house.
Occasionally few at a time.
Some flew out the window,
some through the door.
They all left feathers behind.
He never questioned the leavers.
It was the takers he didn’t believe.
As twisted as he was,
they had a diabolical plan to achieve.
Sometimes it was long sweaty sleepless nights,
with a bird in his cage;
Sometimes it was the smack of the cold irony,
he woke up to in the morning.
Pages of the journal he ripped out
gave him the nastiest papercuts on his feet,
He wouldnt throw them out
and accept the defeat.
Perhaps it was time to close the
windows and the doors,
stop the birds from coming in
yet still allow the light from the
Marc Huppler and Eugenie Khoury