little_brown_birds raze gulls gather at the site of our sins, insignificant as we are in the guts of the great unraveling. they always sound like they're in pain. the songs you sing are softer. sweeter somehow. you chirp to let me know you're here and wait to be fed. only taking what's meant for you alone. you'd sooner let a dark_eyed_junco steal your snack than leave them bullied and bereaved. the robins strut like they believe they're the only thing with wings worthy of being seen. there's no arrogance in the way you glide to get where you need to go. they say you're invasive. a pest. if that's so, may you besiege my waking dreams and plague me with your painted plumage until i've forgotten what feathers are and the mess of my mind is nothing but a thin broth without a thought to salt its skin. 260417 what's it to you? who go blather from