The birds have lost their mind

they forget their own voice
tongue tied
they’re void of the memory of moonlit nights
thinking it’s daylight
mid the night shivering in the icy wind
disorientated by the midday storm
the fallen leaves
hallucinating apparitions of their divine ancestors
mid the night
the call of an owl
the bird call eerie in waves
yearning for the origin
void of feather plucking
shitty eaves
in hate spy on one another
on the other side, the edge of enlightenment
on this side a reedy bank
overhead the breeze
in a thousand years, the earth spins still
the chicken scuffling
the roster turning
we shall tell each other how the Sun is death
there is nothing left of our mind but dreams