Statuesque
On aluminum ripples
Soon to take flight.

Lawns will awaken
The sentries waiting
For summers calling.

Before sunset
The sky is an ocean
Of pink and white.

So late at night,
When the all the birds sleep,
An owl awakes,
With bigs eyes,
Eyes picturing you,
Waiting for you to rise from slumber,
An owl awakes...

Flamingo you are,
What more I can say,
Beautiful more than anyone,
A charming bird,
Ready to fly in the open sky,
Play with clouds,
Rise high and high,
Just don't forget this owl,
With open eyes,
Eyes with you in them,
Awake so late at night...

Charming vagabond with a smile so sweet
Sweeps her suitors off their feet
With a twirl of her skirt and a flash of her thigh,
She’s climbing the ladder, wooing lovers to the skies

The starling is in need of help.
It believes its wings are dull and colorless,
It believes the other birds look down at it,
It believes it has no place.
It needs to learn,
learn that it does in fact have a position,
to be right next to the flamingo.
The flamingo can help it,
make it forget all of its insecurities.
Then the flamingo will finally be happy,
and the starling's mind will be at peace once more.

The dove left awhile ago.
The flamingo stared as it flew away.
The sparrow sat silently,
watching and observing,
Knowing that eventually one would break.
What the flamingo doesn't know, hurts it.
The dove, in fact,has had its wings broken before.
It was said that the wings were broken to no repair.
The dove was paralyzed, could feel no pain.
It was numb, it was in vain.
The sparrow sat patiently on the side.
It helped the dove get back in line,
Time was the true healer.
The sparrow watched as the dove failed,
The sparrow watched as the dove grew,
The most important part,
is that the dove overcame.
Even the sparrow thought there was no return,
though it never said it, it believed it.
Until one day, the sparrow looked out,
and saw the dove flying away.
The dove had healed, the dove was free.
The numbness went down and it began to see.
Now, this is a message for the flamingo to hear,
The sparrow has everything to fear.
The dove never wanted to fly away and not come back,
Yet the flamingo desires exactly that.
The dove was able to overcome their pain,
so I believe the flamingo can do the same.
It takes time, it takes patience,
but in the end, it is worth it.
The world will be clearer, and the flowers brighter.
The sparrow can not wait,
until the day the flamingo can fly away.
But to fly away with its own wings,
with its own strength,
to have overcome this obstacle,
and finally be free.
The sparrow will wait patiently for that day,
Helping all the way.
The flamingo will soar high,
not has high as the heavens,
because it will be low enough to where it can fly back,
Back to where the sparrow sits patiently,
for the help it can give once more.

I introduced the birds to the flock
the dove was awkward, the sparrow, excited

but the falcon towered
and the partridge left
and the starling was left to cry
with the eagle just standing by

and who, you ask, who, who am I?

I am the flamingo.
Do I belong?
Not I.

I rose with chilled air of dawn.
Holding the baby sun on my palm
I ponder at his mystery of liquefaction,
That spreads the hidden gold of Eldorado
Over my shivering shoulders.
I wish if I were a flamingo
Waiting on one leg
For the perfect moment of sunrise,
To dissolve all of my tints of pink
With his melted gold
On the blue lagoon of Galapagos.

I am the young girl running around the house,
looking for the pony,
on Christmas morning,
while the ship is slowly sinking,
in a manure flavored sea.

I am the armless tennis player that
is convinced he will defeat Roger
in less than an hour,
using just one ball, over and over again.

I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial,
with a big stupid smile in my pocket,
and a tinny black book in my soul.
I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness
and I will be the one that lands on his feet,
in Scottsboro heaven.

I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta,
having a croissant,
waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of
Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be
with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what?
I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title,
even though I haven't read the ******
thing and I have no sympathy,
whatsoever, for any anarchist.
Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me
in complete anarchy.

I am the one that wakes up every day
with a stupid smile under his nose,
not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure.
The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up,
ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant
*****,
with no desire to go to outer space,
but with huge hopes up his sleeve for
M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge.
I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge,
and I am aware that all that space debris in my head
will do some serious damage one day.
If they ever figure out how to get it all in.

I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around!
the encore of every good concert,
the yin for the panda ****,
the slim leg for the flamingo,
the gambler,
the rambler,
the day rider.

I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and
all of this infinite blue soup
is nothing more than a Saturday stroll.
I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe
the purest air that someone could ever breathe,
I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced.

You have my word!

I am the skin before the needle shoots up
all its ink.

I will be perky. I will be green.