This Is Edgar Allan Poe, and I Am Begging Kelly Clarkson to Take My Bird

Dear Kelly Clarkson, Miss Clarkson.

I have read that you wanted a bird but were not permitted to obtain it.

Well, I am in possession of a bird and do not want to be.

Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.

In brief: There is a bird in here.

Specifically, a raven.

It sits, croaking, uninvited, on my bust of Pallas. (I would also be happy to give you the bust of Pallas.

It is a tasteful bust; my only qualm with it is that it reminds me of my lost Lenore.) I didn’t ask the bird to be here.

To the contrary, I would like nothing more than for it to depart.

I have asked it to do so, first politely, and then rudely.

But nothing.

The raven will not budge.

When I read of your encounter with the store Art of Play I felt the only hint of hope I had felt for quite some time.

I thought: This woman needs a bird.