The parrot outlives you
Looking for roosters instead. It got too early to believe in speech yesterday so I waited. Some say that ain't productive so I watched them staring into the parent for a truce you get the barricade of being too loved to be a product. You get free of your own bloody commodification. What am I then? A kid again. Jumping geese in the radio station paddling toward their function on wings from a basket of capital ink... the bottom of a contract, is love back... is it really back to the bottom of a contract. Lines and the addicts who climb in them for restoration or a train belle.
If you're unsure of the difference between echo and delay the parrot outlives you that way, to make sure, to be shore to your trauma the calibre of joy, calm alarm, carnal, as in the tarnish of rank as in the flesh of a smile living on a farm scene somewhere dopey pretending to be a parrot and telling you where it's at in the bow and in the arrow, where the cold turns up toward a swarm of reversals and poker faced hoes get uncomfortable and show it. Their frenzy tells you so, that forgetting for them is the only accurate revolution. A real two-way self-negating self-outliving amnesia parrot thinking you back into your first words and wards while you wait for it to stage itself and some say it ain't productive but you don't care cause your absence is in the barricade of being too loved and accurate and puts the color back in yesterday, while he waits for you.. a swarm of dawns, a flock of restless noons. A kettle of slow-motion moonships rolling off the crucifix.
