Birds of the same feather
Flock together
Congested on a majestic street corner
That's a short-term goal for most of them
Because most of them
Would rather expand their wings,
and hover over greater things
That's what we call inspired flight
By the pigeons that have to eat crumbs every night

And if my face is worth a thousand words when it's scarred
I would only hope that two of those are "cocoa" and "butter"
To heal the wounds,
of the tissue scarred,
to mark the death of my womb
But I've graduated,
Got my wings

I'm just a pigeon, with one mile left
Swimming through an endless ocean of death
And my rags-to-riches words will break bones
Like the assassination of two birds with one stone

That's why I don't associate with bird brains
With their beaks in the air
Pelicans with wide jaws yap names
For fish heads
You'll get tossed in the flames
Where some archaeologist will find your skeletal frame


Penned by my hand on the 21st of Chakros, in the year 205 MA.