"What Birds Will Look Like In The Future"

  Ninety thousand starlings march through the billowing wheat,
  Blowing their tiny bugles, pounding their drums: it’s a warpath.

  The sky has gotten lower, and the wind blows only down.
  All of God’s creatures are Earthbound, homebound, and headed dowwwwntownnnn.

  The bird rally their harrowing cry, and the march turns into a determined run
  Trenches of blood, viscera and feather leather pockmark the scenery.

  It’s been thousands of years. The birds legs have grown thicker, stronger
  Meaty and true. Wings shiver and shrivel, and nests full of blue robins eggs creep down from trees,
  into the dirt.

  When the dinosaurs died, the world wept. I wept.
  When the birds killed, the ants of the earth rejoiced.