Pigeon Man

Pigeon Man Frank, buried underneath the morning fog coddling the fractured arteries of urban sprawl which mill humanity against civilization's grindstone Pigeon Man Frank, bears wounds of scorn as a foul wraith that dredges along the peripheries of civil society, Lo! the herpes sore squatting on the public's upper lip Pigeon Man Frank, and his outstretched arms hoist passerine armies, their talons sink into his flesh like fortified coils of blood smeared barbed wire that line penitentiary walls Pigeon Man Frank, a concrete jungle pariah, reclines serenely among his mottled feathered friends, their eyes gleaming like iridescent spotlights, atop the edifice of an abandoned apartment Pigeon Man Frank, the harbinger of veritas cloaked as an urban renegade, gazes into the abyss, before etching a macabre grin upon his dovish façade, as he leaps off the edge in an attempt to just fit in