the little sparrow watched as the nest was ripped apart.  twigs were tossed,
berries crushed, and his younger brother was clawed at until he no longer
moved.  it was a horrible scene, and the little sparrow was trembling, hiding
behind the trunk of the great tree.  he cried out, screaming for help.  his
mother had been gone for four days.  she never left them alone for that long.

the sky was dimming, the clouds swarming around the rising moon.  the little
sparrow's voice was weakening.  he had been crying for hours and he was all
alone.  a crackling of sticks and crunchy leaves below caught the little
sparrow's attention.  a mud-red fox was tiptoeing around the base of the tree,
his eyes trained on the little helpless sparrow.  the baby bird once again
started up his crying.

as the fox was trying to find a way to get up to the higher branch that the
little sparrow sat on, a dark fluttering of feathers crashed down on top of
him.  a large crow was pecking and scratching at the fox, who was howling
in pain.  the fox managed to get a claw into the crow's wing, and blood seeped
from the velvet-tipped feathers.  the crow only grew fiercer, and chased the
fox away from the tree and into the forest.

the little sparrow cried quietly, frightened and unable to steady himself on
his branch.  the poor baby fell from the branch onto a soft bed of leaves on
the ground below.  the little sparrow tried to get up, but was much too
frantic to stand.  the crow hopped toward the sparrow, who attempted to hide
in the crispy leaves.  the crow said nothing, he did not make any movements.  
he only gazed at the little sparrow with his large, black eyes.  the little
sparrow fainted from fear.

the nest was rebuilt when the little sparrow woke up.  there were berries in
the corner and plenty of feathers and tufts of fur to keep him warm.  the
little sparrow looked around, trying to find his mother.  she had been gone
for five days, and she never left him alone for that long.  

in the haze of morning light, the little sparrow saw the large crow, standing
on a fence post, staring out over the field.  the little sparrow called to
him, but the crow pretended not to notice.  a drop of blood fell from his wing
and the crow spoke. "i am no mother, but i will keep you safe, little sparrow.  
you have been left all alone and you are but a child.  do not fear the night
nor the creatures that hunt, for i will be here with you."

The dove left awhile ago.
The flamingo stared as it flew away.
The sparrow sat silently,
watching and observing,
Knowing that eventually one would break.
What the flamingo doesn't know, hurts it.
The dove, in fact,has had its wings broken before.
It was said that the wings were broken to no repair.
The dove was paralyzed, could feel no pain.
It was numb, it was in vain.
The sparrow sat patiently on the side.
It helped the dove get back in line,
Time was the true healer.
The sparrow watched as the dove failed,
The sparrow watched as the dove grew,
The most important part,
is that the dove overcame.
Even the sparrow thought there was no return,
though it never said it, it believed it.
Until one day, the sparrow looked out,
and saw the dove flying away.
The dove had healed, the dove was free.
The numbness went down and it began to see.
Now, this is a message for the flamingo to hear,
The sparrow has everything to fear.
The dove never wanted to fly away and not come back,
Yet the flamingo desires exactly that.
The dove was able to overcome their pain,
so I believe the flamingo can do the same.
It takes time, it takes patience,
but in the end, it is worth it.
The world will be clearer, and the flowers brighter.
The sparrow can not wait,
until the day the flamingo can fly away.
But to fly away with its own wings,
with its own strength,
to have overcome this obstacle,
and finally be free.
The sparrow will wait patiently for that day,
Helping all the way.
The flamingo will soar high,
not has high as the heavens,
because it will be low enough to where it can fly back,
Back to where the sparrow sits patiently,
for the help it can give once more.

Down at the local bar, there are two chairs.  
In one is a man named Logus,
Who came from The Desert of Nine Valleys;
In the other is a song-less musician named Sparrow.

Day after day
Alone in the bar
The man with the foolish grin
Is keeping perfectly still.
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool.

He wandered very far,
Very far,
Over land and sea.
A little shy,
And sad of eye,
But very wise was he.
And then one day,
One magic day he looked Logus' way.
And while they spoke of many things,
Fools and kings,
This he said to him:

“Good morrow to thee, brother prisoner!
Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize we're floating in space,
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry
And
Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?”

Logus doesn’t want to bother with the bird,
”These are all lies
and jests.”

Sparrow retorts, “Still
A man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
Now,
Drop your guard, you don't have to be smart all of the time.
I've got a mind full of blanks, I need to go somewhere new fast.
And don't be shy, oh no,
At least deliberately.

What was I saying?
Oh yeah.
Let me tell you a story that's sad but true,
About someone who just may remind you of you.
Let me tell you a tale that may help you awake a woozy head-
I'll buy you a drink
-It begins long ago on a happy day,
With a fool who was loved, but threw it all away,
Who exchanged a good home for a flophouse, a bar and a plank-“
Sparrow’s eyes begin to glisten--

Logus Interrupts,
“While we're on the subject,
Could we change the subject now?

My name is Logus,
I'm carrying the wheel.
Thanks for all you've shown us,
But this is how we feel.
Come sit next to me.
Pour yourself some tea.
Just like Grandma made,
When we couldn't find sleep.
Things were better then,
Once but never again.
We've all left the den
Let me tell you about it:

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told.
I have squandered my resistance,
for an existence
In which
Ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for
And why it is here,
It will instantly disappear
And be replaced by something even more bizarre
And inexplicable.”

Sparrow began stirring in his seat,
”You know, there is another theory which states
That this has already happened.
And you lived that,
In exchange for a pocket full of mumbles,
Such are promises."

Logus looks at him,
“And? I am still alive.”

Sparrow rolls his eyes,
“Geez, you know
Somebody once asked, "could I spare some change for gas?"
I need to get myself away from this place."
I said, "yep what a concept,
I could use a little fuel myself,
And we could all use a little change."
Too bad
A fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam.
It was worth it just to learn some sleight of hand.
Bad news comes, don't you worry even when it lands,
Good news will work its way to all them plans.

But the building's not going as we planned.
The foreman has injured his hand.
The dozer will not clear a path.”

Logus scoffs,
“You talk in maths.
You buzz like a fridge.
You're like a detuned radio.”


Sparrow Laughs, “You'll never be what is in your heart.
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start.
You have a heart that's full up like a landfill,
A job that slowly kills you,
And bruises that won't heal.
You look so tired, unhappy.
Such pretty houses,
And such pretty gardens:
Green plastic water-cans
For fake Chinese rubber plants
In the fake plastic earth.

There's an empty space inside our hearts
Where the weeds take root.
And now I'll set you free,
I'll set you free.”


They both left right on time,
The Sparrow accosted his mind.
The Sparrow said,
"Hey man, we go all the way"
Of course, they were willing to pay.
Back to the street,
Down to their feet.
Losing the feeling of feeling unique,
Do you know what I mean?

Well on the way,
Head in a cloud,
The bird of a thousand voices
Talking perfectly loud.
But I never heard him
Or the sound he appeared to make.
And he never seemed to notice.
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning 'round.
Of course, everyone goes crazy
Over such and such and such.
We made ourselves a pillar
We just used it as a crutch.
We were certainly uncertain
At least, I'm pretty sure I am.
Well, we didn't need the water
But we just built that, good *******.

For most have found both freedom and safety in their madness;
The freedom of loneliness
And the safety from being understood,
for those who understand us
Enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety.
Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.
And Horses run fastest on the way home.

Logus and Sparrow had just that in mind,
and so, after deciding to take Sparrow’s ride, they left.
After dragging themselves into the car
Logus looked at Sparrow from the passenger seat,
“I keep myself in
To pull myself out.
I'm rising up,
Wish I was sinking down.
And it's not like
There was warning
We were happy.
And it's not like
There was mourning
In the warning.

I guess I am a scout.
So I should find a way out.
So everyone can find a way out.

I know I am a scout.
I should've found a way out.
So everyone can find a way out.

Sparrow starts his car, the ignition doesn’t turn at first,
It’s an older model so it takes a few tries.
Sparrow turns to Logus,
“Well, that is that and this is this.
Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed
when the ocean met the sky. (You missed, you missed)
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste the afterlife?

Drift all you like,
From ocean to ocean,
Search the whole world.

And you find your destination
With so many different places to call home.
'Cause when you find yourself a villain,
In the story you have written
It's plain to see
That sometimes the best intentions
Are in need of redemption.
Would you agree?
If so, please show me.

These thoughts and the strain you're under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again

Logus starts groveling,
“Turn me on to phantoms,
I follow to the edge of the earth.
And fall off.
Everybody leaves
If they get the chance,
And this is my chance.

My shadow's shedding skin,
I've been picking scabs again,
I'm down, digging through
My old muscles, looking for a clue.

I've been crawling on my belly,
Clearing out what could've been,
I've been wallowing in my own confused
And insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over
Or a word to guide me in.
I wanna feel the changes coming down.
I wanna know what I've been hiding.”

His eyes are the size of the moon,
He could 'cause he can so he does.
He’s feeling so good,
Just the way that he does
When it's nine in the afternoon.

Logus starts thinking to himself,
“So you think you're a Romeo?
Playing a part in a picture show?
Cause you're the joke of the neighborhood!
Why should you care if you're feeling good?
Take the long way home!
Take the long way home.

His phone starts ringing,
he clumsily pulls it from his pocket
and answers it.
It’s his wife, para.
She’s concerned,
“Hello? Hello? Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?
Come on now,
I hear you're feeling down
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I'll need some information first,
Just the basic facts,
Can you show me where it hurts?
Please don't
**** yourself for recognition.
**** yourself to never ever stop.
oh no!
You broke another mirror!
You're turning into something you are not.

Come home!
I'll bake you a cake
Made of all their eyes.
Do you see me
Dressed for the ****?”

Logus chuckles and thinks to himself,
“I know she's looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb
In the shape of an "L" on her forehead.”

Their eyes are the size of the moon,
she could 'cause she can so she does.
They're feeling so good
Just the way that they do
When it's nine in the afternoon.

Para continues,
“But you'll still
**** yourself for recognition,
**** yourself to never ever stop.
You broke another mirror,
You're turning into something you are not.

And that's okay

I got a box full of all your pity.
We're fresh out of tissues
Because on them I wrote a comedy,
I wrote a comedy.

Logus looking down,
almost as if she’s there in front of him
to see how sad he feels,
“Sorry, but
I'll take a quiet life,
A handshake of carbon monoxide.

With no alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises,
Silent, silent.

Tell me what to do!
Now the tank is dry.
Now, this wheel is flat.
And you know what else?
Guess what I received
In the mail today?
Words of deep concern
From my little brother:

Logus briefly thinks of a letter he received recently,
“Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start.
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head,
you'll never settle any of your scores.

I backed my car into a cop car the other day.
Well, he just drove off - sometimes life's okay.
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, ah what did I say?

Well, you'll just laugh it off and it'll be okay.
it'll be okay.
Everybody needs a place to call their home.
Everybody needs someone to call their own.
Even when you're lonely, know you're not alone,
You're one of us.”

Logus' attention turns back to para.

Para begs,
“Please hold on hope, don't choke
On the noose around your neck
And find strength in pain
And change your ways
Know your name as it's called again.”

Logus sighs,
“Phew!
For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself.

Sparrow,
Somewhere on the edge of the conversation,
Begins getting heavy eyed,
Shutting one then the other and then opening both
And says to himself, drifting into an irresistible
road hypnosis induced sleep,  

“And if you could be what you wanted,
If you could be who you wanted
All the time,
All the time.

And now I'll set you free,
I'll set you free…”
Before trailing off.

There once was a little sparrow who fell in love with a lion.
The lion warned the sparrow not to love him,
for he was bigger than she,
and he could crush her fragile bones.

But, the sparrow said, "No, Lion. I cannot go. I will love you even as I lay broken beneath your paw."
And so it was.
He loved her like he shouldn't, said they.
She didn't know how to love, said them.

Their squawks and twitters fell upon deaf ears.
The lion and the sparrow ran from them.
The sparrow flew away to nestle in the lions mane,
The lion roared at the slanderers, unknowing animals.

They ignored them.
They walked through woods in the rain,
Escaped in the night
And ran through the plains.

The lion stepped softly,
Kept the sparrow safe.
The sparrow sang sweetly,
Kept him in her wake.

"I love you," said the lion,
"like I never thought I could."
"I love you," said the sparrow,
"like I never knew I would."

"Don't ever go," said the lion,
"I cannot imagine you gone."
"Don't ever leave," said the sparrow,
"I know now, you are my song."

The murmurs faded,
Beasts quieted with time,
But the lion and the sparrow vowed to love the other,
Until the stars fell down.

Black sparrow , black sparrow
You have fallen prey to death
Little sparrow, sleek and narrow
The moons at its crest
Black sparrow, black sparrow
Fly into the afterlife
Cold sparrow, you've paid your toll
Now end your strife
Black sparrow, black sparrow
Close your eyes
Little sparrow, your path is narrow
But walk it you must, you have died
Black sparrow, black sparrow
Find your tomorrow

The season of beauty
Has finally come to stay,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

Never has nature begotten
Such a pure sense of
An African beauty,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,

Questioning thy true beauty
Has placed me on the known,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,

Show me all
That thou can,
So I can perceive
And conceive thy
True seasonal countenance,

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

Oh no, the days of
My love life is
Blinking on a fast
Lane for thy taste,

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,

Is the length of my
Dying days untamable by
Thy faithful jewels?

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

Ah! The glorious sensitivity in
The moon-like eyeballs
Of thee, has imprisoned
My reasoning power,

But he wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

I hope thou may fall
On my waiting lips,
Though I cannot have thee,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,

My heart is bleeding in pain,
For posterity may not live to
Behold thy true beauty,

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

I do remember thy
Precious name very well,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

Accepting the sophistry
Of thy symbolic hips
Under the Kente cloth
Has been an axiom,

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’

Now I know, that
The echoes of the Gods
Do not tremble
Over thy beauty alone,

But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Achimota’.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

I once caught a sparrow, small and black, its wings shivered as I took it in,
Fed the poor little thing, stroked its breast and listened for a heartbeat,
There it was, small but strong, its pulse erratic. Scared creature,
After the day, it had recovered and was ready to fly away, as it was born to do
So, I broke my sparrow’s wings.

Now my sparrow sits in its box, its heart is small and strong,
But I don’t let it out to see the light of day for too long,
I love my sparrow, I look at it night and day,
My warm embrace, from time to time, reminds the thing that it’s mine,
I keep my sparrow in the dark

Today, my sparrow was looking as effervescent and as strong as ever,
It hopped with pride and glee and looked so lovingly at me,
So, I took it out of its box and placed it by the open window,
The wild-eyed adoration of Raa was in its eyes as it peeped at freedom,
So, I broke my sparrows wings.

My sparrow is looking a little tired and upset,
I placed it in the box without a friend or a strand of hope to live on,
I told my sparrow that I love it and that it is special,
And it believes that I love it as it loves me, but I only like it because it is black.
I keep my sparrow in the dark.

I think it’s the ordinary that really gets to us
We have to put meaning to the ordinary first of course
Perhaps that's why we call it extraordinary
Our own meaning fused with something that could be everyday
I think that’s the most beautiful way to look at it
I really do
We have to find the beauty ourselves
For it could be anything
Anywhere
And you’ll know it when you see it
It’ll strike you
Throw you for something you thought you’d never see
So incredible you feel you may have disappeared from the world you've known so long
This is a long winded way of saying I found a phoenix
It’s surprising what you can find when you’re not looking
I was so busy try to wrestle overgrown blooms from my lungs
I almost didn’t see the bird flitter down onto the windowsill
Mighty and bold
Soft sparks exploding from every flap of his wings
He’s beautiful
And his song even more so:
Strings of fiery passion
Stories of all he’s heard and seen
And a kindness that runs deep and rampant
Like a river of white flames
And there I sat
Eyes softly weeping amber
Hands covered in dirt and blood reached into my chest
In the process of tearing out flowers that should have never been mine
What an impression to make don’t you think?
I wonder what he must think of me now

I truly think he’s beautiful
And as a bird does
He flies and he wanders
His life is separate than mine
Yet the moments that intertwine are those to behold
His sparks and flames do not hurt
But rather aid small aching joints
That have been too cold for too long
His song radiant and bright
It brings hope to my own soft voice
Humming along tranquilly
Sometimes
I can still see the falter in his wings
Hear the stutter in his song
He tries so hard to hide it
I want to help him
Reach out my hand
But I fear my help is unwanted and burdunous
After taking the plants from my veins
Blooms from my lungs
Cuttinging most roots from my heart
I have been reduced to what I once was:
A small and empty pond
How can a pond reach a hand to a phoenix?
How can something made of water even try and touch something of flame?
Perhaps I am just foolish

I think I’m the only one who can see the phoenix
Rather
I think I’m the only one who can tell he’s a phoenix
I don’t understand how some can look upon him and turn away
How can they not see
The fire
How can they not feel
The heat
How can they not hear
His passion
His stories
His kindness
I’ve started to wonder if he even knows
Does he know?
Does he know what beauty he holds?
This question now plagues my sleep
I wish for him to return, if only for a moment,
To see his reflection
Perhaps a pond can be good for that if nothing else

They call him a sparrow
Which would be fine if they didn’t say it with such disregard
They really cannot see it?
They compare his crimson coat to dust
His passion to ramblings
His fire to wildness
His kindness… can they just not see his kindness?
How can they not?
They call him a sparrow
As if there is nothing to the word
As if there is nothing more
They call him a sparrow yet they do not look upon him
They do not listen
They call him a sparrow
And he believes the way they say it
There is always more
So much more than what they say
I think it’s the ordinary that always gets to us
Beauty can be anywhere
Anyone
If I ever call him a sparrow
It will not be negligent of all I’ve seen
Beauty is in the ordinary
And a sparrow can still be a phoenix

Who will love a little Sparrow?
Who's traveled far and cries for rest?
"Not I," said the Oak Tree,
"I won't share my branches with
no sparrow's nest,
And my blanket of leaves won't warm
her cold breast."

Who will love a little Sparrow
And who will speak a kindly word?
"Not I," said the Swan,
"The entire idea is utterly absurd,
I'd be laughed at and scorned if the
other Swans heard."

Who will take pity in his heart,
And who will feed a starving sparrow?
"Not I," said the Golden Wheat,
"I would if I could but I cannot I know,
I need all my grain to prosper and grow."

Who will love a little Sparrow?
Will no one write her eulogy?
"I will," said the Earth,
"For all I've created returns unto me,
From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be."

i've painted the cradle of an *** to sit on:
a garden bench...
i went with her for groceries -
we did it in a spectacular time: under 2hs...

ciul: which is a silesian word...
it's pan-germanic and it's... like welsh:
if there's velsh...
           because we would be inclinded to
talk about: sub-groups...
       gvara: talk...

ciul: it's a blunt word... it's not a ******
word...
                has any son ever been
a source of pride of a mother?
             i do wonder what the ****** mary...
would have to say...
oh i'm sure she's simply
"puzzled" by the final stance...
         'no matter mother... unless i be
crucified'... because a belief in
the "ultimate cuck-warrior of silence"
via joseph...

too much... too much...
but i sat through her homeschooling...
we studied the operas today...
from gloriana... through aida...
madame butterfly... turandot...
tosca... carmen... and of course: norma...

maria callas...
            when my grandmother has these
bouts of my mother drinking gin...
i must be the most... obscure "citizen"...
but i swear i wouldn't put someone
to the torture of opera...

        like it was a lesson...
hardly... because i don't remember
that she asked about... la traviata...
of course i made the sort of mistake that's
most associated with...
playing a *** note on piano:
how dare i not recognize the voice
of pavarotti?! how dare i?!

father was sitting with us... for a while...
he clearly was attuned to my torture...
do good: a woman scolds...
do bad: she might as well applaud...
unless: it's not bad enough...

so he went up while i smoked a cigarette...
took a shower... climbed into bed...
coming up to 34...
and as i walk the streets i see them too...
i'm guessing hovering on the circa
plot of 39... third child in the "bargain"...

yes... but what of all those...
and me: shuffling in the shadow of "failures"...
whimsical contest... as much...
of course... by now i wouldn't be
sharing a flat with...
a drug dealer that would get his "details"
from a university hospital...
or the likes...
i'd be either settled... or hanging...

on the "way forward" or...
in that 20+ year ping-pong between:
"the native land"... to go back...
back to a 20 year hiatus?
          no wonder i stopped giving myself
the thrills over horror movies...
somehow the romance started
to trickle through...

a study of opera with a mother...
who... wants to study all the operas...
but not... la traviata!
she's drinking her subtle gin...
my father can't make out whether
it's a lobster being poached
or a fish being gutted... being excused
from drowning when gasping for air...

mothers... with a mother like that...
oh... i would most certainly bet on
a poker-hand of a wife and mother-in-law...
yes... i'm running from this home
as fast as i can: into the forest...
under the bridge... into the gutter...
into... "adventure"!

- thanks be given to where thanks are due...
if only my name was: Norman...
perhaps i could get away with hiding
a clown... and a circus...
perhaps i could live a duality...
and have... a string of failed animal
experiments to boot...
like pouring salt on slugs...
one of my ex's said that with glee...
like that one time i saw these two boys
smear frogs with lipsticks before
setting light to them...

           an oyster for a heart...
a brain for a sponge...
      sometimes i don't think sanity is anything:
beside the stage-fright of actors
before they step on the west end stage and...
hey presto?!

      of life i have only known one constant:
the insistance to capture every instance
ex-,
             out from every and back... folded...
into none...
and then repeated...
          
     somewhere far away:
                  there's an escape pod with fiction:
scribbled on it... hardly unlikely...
      perhaps these old relations were alway so:
this supposed in-breeding anti-cosmopolitanism
and -ism global -ism...
in check ran the lineage:
with the martriarch or the partriarch...
the uncles and aunts...
        perhaps even the neighbours...
    
                        once upon a time...
so much for looking for alien life-forms...
      such eyes piercing this veil...
brought back... a stipend for unearthing more and
more alien aspects of our own ontology...
plato and the shadow theatre of a t.v.:
cave perhaps a home...

                 what a simpler lesson to be learned
from simply being beat...
or kept on a leash... in a darkened corner...
perhaps simpler...
              all this intricacy for "detail"...
for being: less pedestrian...
      or whatever the hell would suffice...
to have to move the hands...
as if one were a ****** conductor:
in... "appreciation" of classical music?
                    
          will not tears suffice?
                can i sometime cry at beauty...
notably: melody entombed?

'i'm a citizen of the world' never said any
classical greek man...
the nation and the diaspora...
        or rather...
playing ping-pong between england
and scotland and poland: for...
a better count of 26 years...

         from under the iron curtain:
to be subsequently thrown under
a silicon veil...
                    rummaging on a bad idea...
and then: watching this idea
migrate and... somehow:
for the sake of all of europe:
these abortion testimonies from poland
are shelling us back toward
the stone ages...

    excused if (a) ******...
              (b) ****... fingers-crossed...
(c) the life of the mother is stressed
as the imperative...
       (d) that the catholic church can
profit...
       what christianity would be like...
if... what islam would be like...
unless in eastern europe...
      the baptism of poland happened
in 966...
        islam emerged in circa 600s...
        
                       and lithuania was still
a pagan kingdom...
        until 1387...
                    the battle of grunwald took place
in 1410...
         the fourth crusade... and how barbarossa
never made it to jerusalem and was
mistook for a great big pickle...
   and... for the better use of christian steel...
the muslims were too powerful
and there was no need for a scapegoat
of europe: back then... what a tiny place...

and of course the mongols and their leftovers
in the crimean peninsula: that tartar steak
that tartare sauce...
            that tartar deep-fried dumpling:
   czebureki (чeбурeкі)...

welcome... an inward... therefore "backward"
looking people...
how confusing... inward implying:
reflective without a reflex of change... etc.
   "backward": a return to / perhaps even
not closely associated with 'from'...

"from" the brgain ****** of burroughs shooting
up a dotted line and ditto:         "                   "
cans of paint-thinner bullets onto a canvas....
and somehow coming up with the cipher:
Tangier...

      somehow better to be strapped to a world
that is always: looking away...
a cindarella: a somewhat distant cousin:
excuse being "victim":
it would take both **** germany
and communist russia...
and still it would take about the same
amount of time to quench the so desired
freedom of the fwench...

ping-pong and somehow,
not a lot of Dickens...
           if only these words were
the worth of the words made into an "item"
for an editor... or a journalistic sludge
of... cheap ***** and bourbon...
and... oh god... memory: should these
be words of testimony...
         a very fine, fine... vanity project...
bad ideas on toothpicks while
all the sophists walk on stilts!

          that mention of: 'he('s) about to convert!
weielding etymology!'
           the WWII fight between saxon
and bavarian cousins... the mass graves...
the somehow slight praise of elevating
the sombre loot... when a sparrow would grace
the pits... a sparrow...
nothing more... no great parting
of the red sea... no... plagues to the count of 10...
just a sparrow...
the crow was writing with the ink
letover from the *****-juices of a plucked
'un from the lore one...

but the sparrow... just a brief hope
for the power of man's industry of imagination:
a figment: a phantom!
that it almost feels right:
feeding the lie...
when god "created" the octopus:
(i.e.) gambled drunk and blind...
man would have the sparrow as his...
choice: for a synonym of soul...
and that when god was: gambling drunk and blind...
man was... "somehow" sober...
and petulant in prayer...
            and counter to being petulant in prayer:
very much concerned with seriousness...
and hierarchies...
that man was somehow sober...
and dancing when he walked... on the "sly"...

you too care for the measured step?
i too care for it... very much so...
a sparrow is its own...
it doesn't the depth of a god's squid...
nor the privacy of man's adventure when...
baking bread...
a sparrow is a sparrow is a sparrow:
and the crow... is but the elder...
sribble-meister!
a crow's beak would touch wood...
knock knock would ensue...
a crow's beak would touch stone:
an earthquake!

                           and so it was written...
but a sparrow?
                 what was given unto gabriel
and subsequently unto muhammad...
               can you... please... recite me...
the quran over a mass grave of german soldiers
from world war I near Ypres?
but the reality is... comes a sparrow...
once a year... and sings...
and therefore plucks one soul up from
that ground... that ground of communal
fermentation...

that's it... i have not hunger to write any more.