flight of a famished mind

A frenzy of flying birds will not disturb me. Not when my mind, itself, is part of the pandemonium, flipping about in carnal ecstasy over having found the wings to ride the air with. Oh, the bliss of gliding with vultures in search of carrion; the succulent pain of salivating over the thought of some rotten flesh, which, though not yet in sight, already dangles the promise of being discovered. I will find it soon. A few flapping would get me to where it lays. And wanton devouring will replace the pain.