Architecture
The pigeons who struggle in thick heat,
To presume their worth,
Perched atop crumbling shelters.
The orange vents/miniature cites
Scrambling up their backs.
Along those steps/agonized bliss/
Still poised after drunken nights.
Succumbing incessantly to out-stretched awe!
That I could sink between chipped paint,
Or soar over electric lines and understanding,
The shifting of feet or clicks of doors/ignitions,
Plastic, or rustled vegetation,
Overturned crates and bales,
The bounty of which chirps at it’s own
Random distribution.
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