I am a
little bird with wings not so deep
and I have
no say but
I assume
myself as your messiah, as the God,
your God who
writes the time for the sun
and the
moon.
I travel
everyday to the moon, wakes
the sleeping
ball with the piano tied on my back.
I play some
cheap mix sometime and it changes
its bodily
forms to my seduction, the other times
I compose
destinies with my tiny fingers and it
watches me
write.
What if I
forget to go to him a day?
What shall
it do without me?
I shall
decompose into your feathers, it says
the ground
for all decomposition,
all
submergence into catacombs.
Fair enough,
I squeak. And who wonders
with other
letters of requests from other lives
on earth. No
one.
I fly on my
great escape.
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