He was just some Joseph looking for a manger.

doesn't it seem as if sometimes, no matter how the determined gametes
of your mother and your father
chose to construct the topography of your face,

we all, sometimes, sometimes, 

sometimes, sometimes, all of our expressions fall 

into the same broken repose? 

and we see it in our mirrors warped,

and we recognize it, 

and we know it very well, 

because it is us, 

and it is ours,

and others' too, 

we all grow 

so tired 

of killing 

each other,

sometimes,

sometimes.

"...And then leaning on your window sill
He'll say one day you caused his will
To weaken with your love and warmth and shelter,
And then taking from his wallet
An old schedule of trains, he'll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger."

l. cohen