Strange bird,

With your top plumes teased,

Your color is strictly after-market.

Your eyes stare as if they do not see.

Both your eyes seem artificial,

Glazed forward like jaded marbles,

But you have viewed life through a knothole,

Or as one who observes its subjects

Through a one-way looking glass.

You hold great secrets in your bird brain.

But instead of sharing truths,

You paint your geisha face on thick,

And parrot out only the same age-old isms

That have always gotten the human race nowhere.

The only feather in your cap is constancy.

The way you look today, and think,

Will be exactly the same

As the day you lie in estate,

In your glass coffin.

-jenn