Reality is a small flock of birds
Whispering nothingness into your ears
Undecisive birds with foolish stories
Telling you to do ridiculous things
Like the sweeping billows of a dark cloud
Covering all of life’s torturous pits
Their eternal talking driving you mad
Much like a plump bilious white pigeon
Chattering mouths filled with misleading truths
Old hobos around a dying fire
Skeletal hads reaching out greedily
Dreaming hopelessly of different lives
Such is told from an avian’s viewpoint
Remember what I am about to say
Reality is a small flock of birds
Birds that give off an extremely bad smell
Written at Upward Bound at Occidental College.