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At the far edge of a town,
Where all roads lose their tracks,
There is a tavern that camps all birds.

The ones that fly away from their cages.
Singing songs of freedom,
Flapping their wings to the prospect of imminent pleasure.

One after the other they go meandering, 
Skirting from idle eyes that sit at every corner,
And swift tongues that tell of tales unseen.

See them scurrying away.
Rushing like sheep to the house of slaughter,
Where in a trice, they douse in the sins of the flesh.

Wondering why they took that long walk down the aisle;
Embarking on a journey of such unforeseeable perils,
Wishing they never said I do.

At last, when the charm of desire has waned off,
And the call of duty appeals to their limbo consciences,
They comb their nests, leaving behind no trace of evidence.

Along murky corridors, they cast unseeing eyes,
And return acknowledging nods to passing comrades.
Each bond to the other in silence, by shame.

One before the other, they sneak out,
Filled with a mix of pleasure and guilt.
Often vowing never again to return.

To this scene of adultery.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 1/15/2018 7:59:00 PM
I could completely conjure up scenes in my mind of the bar/business district in my neighborhood when I read this, and I like the use of the bird imagery insofar as it communicated the experience in a more universal context. I mean, birds don't have a religion or race or nationality as far as I know, so using birds expressed the experience in a way to which probably a lot of people can relate, but wouldn't unless it was described using birds.
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