The birds have come
in droves
signaling the arrival of train engines
and similar stories
of hardship
without the hard will to live,
the bashful bird barely
survives
until,
driven by the madness of critical introspection,
succumbs
to
ethereal being.
We none of us wanted a palace: we liked this humming little hell-hole with its atrophied rules and characters, its ogres and mascots. Alan Hollinghurst The Folding Star
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