Memories slide down the road like pebble pearls.
Rolling, they shine their last sparkle, as they amass in a pack full of dust.
I see my shield, and my kite lying together – my sleigh and my sword,
all bursting up like bubbles in the water,
the moment smashing hands falls down upon them.
And what book to give if the pages are blank, yellowed, and dried
from the twists of the wind.
Does the empty seat fill the same with a ghost in it?
Are lips, still tasty when they have no color?
The roads that used to cloud me like a pillow-hug
turned into a swirling dip reaching the depths of the world,
Inside the whirlpool, I see the wallpaper of reality
being ripped off like a soft cardboard
that cannot stand the pressure of time
and surrenders instead,
puffing a tied breath out of its shoulders.
And what ropes can you climb when there is no wall to hatch on.
You say pick your knout and your smile, and all I see is blemishes and pain devouring the sky out of our heads,
you take the stub upon the chest with a brave jump, and I dissolve to sawdust within an instant, flowing in the wind like myriad selves.
And if there is clay, I’m gonna nurture it and shape it with my hands,
till the face starts showing again and the eyes reveal their hidden truth,
and if its feet enmesh into a moving knot,
I will attach the white feathers in its back,
and blow away for it to fly on its own.
