Fords Swallowed in the Bird of Forgetting
Fords Swallowed in the Bird of Forgetting
There are fords where memory drowns in its own shimmering waters
someone calls me from copper plants growing in the mouths of dead gates
nightingales sing with wings of ice in the warmth of resurrected cold
and within us are castles breathing blue flowers on immortal plastic horses
understand that we live in an immense bird woven from our forgotten flight
caterpillars clean us with their green lips branches growing downward toward the sky
a weary girl swallowed the canvas she was weaving from our kisses
let's kiss each other with a silver spoon the sweetness is burnt by the cold stove
here comes King Kong with his slingshot of stars washing our shirt with dirty clouds
here comes the professor with seven heads each crying a different note of loneliness
the ball plays us like twin brothers born from shattered mirrors
we nod and our head nods us until we lose ourselves in our own gesture
a girl with a face full of luminous soot from a moon unwashed for millennia
we race down the highway where the news roars with laughter at happiness's funeral
we look into the backpack full of forgotten happenings like living toys
everyone believes only they know the secret that all dream in common
I have in mind the happy period when I lived in my mother like in a liquid palace
I stayed there floating in thoughts about what I might need in that harsh and empty world
it rained she slept naked with me in her belly as in a warm and living planet
above the bed swung my sister the moon with her face eternally turned toward me
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