For my birds
In concrete jungles
Sitting on branches
Of organized bureaucracy
Watching the asphalt grow
Creating new crimes
To fill new prisons

For my little birds
Named children of despair
Sitting on trees growing
Under paper moons 
And frozen rainbows
Hopscotch and double-dutch on
Playgrounds of unborn dreams
Hope never flies 
With clipped wings
Poverty is their toy

For my caged birds 
Who still sing
Would be leaders
Showing courage behind bars
Teaching new songs to
Untapped spirits hidden under 
Jerseys and ball caps
Making street corner wishes
On Genies in Hennessy bottles
Trying to make a dollar
Out of what makes sense

For my birds
Faith lies in dime bags as 
Turning Virgin Mary’s 
Last name to Jane
Getting religion from television
Praying to an altar of cable gods
With benevolent offerings
Of robot souls