Fly South

All the poor miserable birds
Countless circles
Wish like fish in
Glass bowls
Thinking of the places
That they'd like to go
From their Alamos

Yes all those poor miserable birds
Struggling to be absurd
Light a candle
Hold that handle
Wings that should be
Fluttering
Just coast along still
Struggling to go

All the poor miserable words
Uttered but still go unheard
Coming from beaks unassured
That if they call
It matters not at all

All the poor miserable birds
Hovering above the world
Clip their wings and watch them fall
And leave them there
Until they learn to crawl