Hang Your Heart on a Crane

  

  Why the coat, Little Bird?

 Out there is raining but the cold only comes when

Your heart allows

 I never understand why this cellphone of yours

Only plays the same song

In an endless repeat.

Some masterpiece from

Christian Gaubert

  Those current voices come from here, Little Bird?

Our, unimaginable ventriloquism

Talking without words

Like two wizards

Reading our fates in poor

Coffee stains

We think the fate is a joke

Until we look inside our own eyes

  Wipe this soda from my lips

No hands allowed

A little bit hard to think properly

Like a sane man

When those blue eyes of yours stare at me

Light me like a lens flare

My cellphone plays

Mind Mischief from Tame Impala

Expound in sounds all I want to do

From here on out

  Why the coat, Little Bird?

The wind maker is asleep

In this dusk only you and me

Exists and are aware

Sit here in my easy chair

Put your hand over mine

Feel my Tesla Coil skin

It’s not supposed to be romantic, ye know?

  Browned hair Bird

The color that never fails

To turn a man blue

How you can spend all your energy during the day

And still gather everything you need?

  Like an old blues

Coming rapidly

You came Little Bird

Playing the victim to me

While I know

We both are thugs and thieves waiting

To draw beautiful landscapes

With the blood of the innocents.

  And every girl that I talk while I’m around

Seems the ghost of a ghost

They do not shine like a Little Bird

Nor cause a damned rackety explosion

When they sing

  Little Bird

Your Mamma and Dadda

Will put your money in the desperate marble

Bank balcony

You’ll never see it again

  So pay your debt and lick

These cigarette ashes from my floor while

I grab your heart

And hang it on the highest crane

And I think that you cannot see

How nice I’m being

  Warm bed, warm meal

Place your head in my pillow

And take

Your science fiction books

That’s all that you need

  We met last year, Girl

Three hundred and sixty four tears ago, Bird

Every year i’m gonna tell you the same tale, Girl

But I wonder

If I go faster and faster why I cannot get rid

Of your

Blue, Blurred, Teeth crooking, lens flare enlightening , submachine gun shooter, bone breaker, heart booster, eyes.

  Why the coat, Little Bird

The icy fog came again?

The serpent soul pinchers?

So enter my house with your shiniest pair of shoes

But take off your eyelashes to talk to me. 

Burial Services In The Rain

  Her tea was so tasty.

 Little Bird told me while we looked to the grey sky. Clump around us so quiet, almost a Graveyard Shift and nothing could break this hush. Nor the lawmen or He Who Walk Behind the Rows. Shovel was not heavy, the bodies too. But Little bird is Little, so I had to carry both.

 My horns hurts me when i lay my head down. Now I had to.

  Had to ask.

 What was the tea flavor?

 Little Bird smiles, so pretty, crooked tooth in a crimson gum. Mamma and Dadda liked to beat in the face so you won’t be pretty enough for a boyfriend? I asked.

 She nods yes and suddenly.

 Her  tea tasted like potassium cyanide with truth serum, but believe me Horned Man, when I was a Little Little Girl, Mamma and Dadda fucked so loud that I had to raise up the tv sound. This moment remind me of “My Favorite Things” from Mary Poppins.

 Bury a body is not easy but the earth is always hungry, I could use my horns but it will hurt even more. Little Bird doesn’t know how to use a shovel. The police cars will never come, the lawmen will never guess. The rain will cover us and the fog is now our lover.

 The fog won’t take our good grapes, the fog will embrace us instead. But we will not be safe until the last portion of dirty covers the last bit os skin and teeth.

 This marriage consummated with blood, enlaced and trapped between the insane hug of two lovers.  Mamma and Dadda won’t be able to talk furthermore. So we can rest in peace when lay our heads in the pillow.

 Little Bird trust me, you cannot open your eyes in the light or God will make you blind, I know that hurts because the horn is sharp but believe me.

 He who makes himself a beast gets rid of the pain of being human.

 Birds do not have horns, but birds have very sharp beaks, and some even eat their own deceased. With some barbiturates cocktails.

  Being beated again and again and again was so awful Little Bird, get rid of this memory, something good tonight will make you forget ‘bout this for awhile.

 I’ll help you.

 You have to, or they’ll catch me and I’ll catch hell with my blues. I do not have shoes, only the spurs that you carved on my flesh.

I helped you with the tea and now I’ll help you under this cold rain.

  I wish there’s music here, nature produces music but I want hear something from Christian Gaubert. C’Est Bon D’Etrê Bien Dans Sa Peau.

 I’ll sing for you and the works goes faster.

  The shovel was heavy but the weight that comes in the shoulders is even more heavy. Effort to bury the past worths only when future is bright as a thousand suns. The cross on your neck is only iron if YOU do not create a meaning to it. Like the horns embedded on my head. A few can see, because they know the meaning.

Oh yeah
Life is bad
Gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather, stormy weather
And I just can get my poor self together
Oh I'm weary all of the time
The time, so weary all of the time

  Tell me about your desires, carve your wishes in this letters that no one will read, there’s no sense in wander around searching for yourself. Only the mirror have answers that you looking for, Little Bird is your inner self, these horns in my head are my inner self. They all show us the direction, to the Northern Lights.

 Lead to see and to wonder, because love is to wonder twice.

In each pistol shot or knife lunge.

  Mamma and Dadda are gone. But you still have your pistols, forks and knives. The rain washs us and the fog protects us. We shall carry this burden ‘cause carry is our fate. Midnight Boom will come, but when it comes we’ll be so far away. Little Bird dressed in that djellabah covered in blood, something so beautiful it hurts. Dirt turning into mud under our feet, soft as Mamma meat when I put my horns into her belly. She broke my arm. The fog will take care of me and the rain will bless me with her balm.

 The math is really simple.

Ask us no questions and we’ll won’t tell you lies. Ask us too many and, oh boy, somebody will die.

  I’ll build a house for two, you can come someday to have a dinner with us.

  You also can have a lovely tea with us. Sodium Pentothal is so yummi with cream crackers, I’d love to see you eat sixteen without liquid and the food slicing up your throat. So good that brings a tear to your eye. Scopolamine mixed with coffee and some cookies. A tablespoon of sugar helps the medicine goes down.

  Don’t get to close of this cage, man. She’s the hardest button to button. Last part of dirt in this turf, let’s get the hell outa here Little Bird, the lawmen must know already.  Get on my horns and let the wind kiss us, the rain anoint us. City is yellow now. Will you take this djellabah for me?

  Sometimes the rain comes, sometimes the breeze hit the fire, sometimes the rocks on the way are too big, but when this happens I use my horns to remove ‘em.

 They’re gone, this brings hope and the love. Can you sustain a lie and say out loud: I was out of control?

  Well, there’s no turning back.

This was the last twist of the horn.

The last twist of the beak eating through my heart.