Ground packed, hunker up, a vision compact.

Just say anything.

Smile, you’re not on camera- and while you’re at it, bring it home.

Craning for feed, glossed feathers primed for liquidation.

Though virtue may not save all for those who pretend, there is solace in knowing that truth has no end.

You will return to the humane.

Confusion of causality, innocent crimes committed to one’s self, one’s body, and eventually, one’s soul.

Unrecognized, unrelenting, unopposed.

“Come in, command.”

The run will return, I promise you.

So fly, little bird.