Oh yes, the bloomin' birds,
while sitting, sorting fancy words
from alleycats and moths
inside a haze of gray, I say
it was inevitable in a way.
The piece flew off the stick
and reached with force fifteen
the eye I really want to keep.
Confusion landed close nearby
bystanders asked (in earnest) WHY,
what saved the day, the mood the eye
from objects never meant to fly?
You think about your God Allah,
it was my friend Amygdala.