There are so many rules. 

So many birds chirping

so many songs

from so many perches. 

I close my eyes and

the dark birds flutter,

their wings scraping

the insides of my belly,

chest, and head. 

I can feel them scraping at my throat.

Hooking flesh eager to get out.

If I lift my head and open

my mouth they will come

flying out in a great cloud

of fluttering, scratching claws

and bird shit,

a dark vortex burning a hole

through the ceiling,

into the sky and

the neighbors will lift their eyes to say,

“He is screaming again.”