If Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

by krstaten

Then fear is simply
another bird
inside a rib cage,
wings beating
frantically,
perpetually,
a helicopter thrum,
throwing feathers
like coins to a beggar.

To bypass his nest,
the heart,
is simple.
Ribs like a balance beam.
Crawl like a drunkard
clinging to the sidewalk.
Home must be just
around the corner,
surely by now.

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