Coming over mountains and sailing over seas...

He wanted to be like the birds. He wanted their songs to flow up through his throat and burst out of his mouth. He wanted their feathers to bud from his flesh. He wanted their wings, he wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so he consumed them. He speared them, he clubbed them, he tangled their feet in glue, he netted them, he spitted them, he threw them onto hot coals, and all for love, because he loved them. he wanted to be one with them. He wanted to hatch out of clean, smooth, beautiful eggs, as they did, back when he was young and agile and innocent of cause and effect, he did not want the mess of being born, and so he crammed the birds into his gullets, feathers and all, but it was no use, he couldn’t sing, not effortlessly as they do, he can’t fly, not without smoke and metal, and as for the eggs ... he didn't stand a chance. For he is mired in gravity, he's earthbound. He's ankle-deep in blood, and all because he ate the birds, he ate them a long time ago, when he still had the power to say no.