Graeme Bezanson Aviary

The most alarming thing about the common
pigeon is his antiquity. It's June and light
is moving at unprecedented speeds across
the plains of Europe. The upstairs neighbors

are shouting loudly which sounds like enormous
copper bells jumbling unto one another with Roman
Catholic momentum. Rooks live in crowds
and are mainly vegetarian. Crows are solitary

and mainly imply that Macbeth looking out from
the window is trying to picture himself as a murderer.
It may not be sunny everywhere; if it's sunny
everywhere it may not explain everything. If our

only historical chance is grace then grace
is what we're incapable of bestowing. Even in his
palmiest days the jackdaw attends to the weary
chambers of his acorn heart. The city is glittery

with cathedrals. Forests, though valuable and
accustomed, are desolate and hold danger:
these are both nightingales and owls in them.


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