Hand-Made Amnesia

Are sparrows slowly turning deaf?
Are we all turning deaf?
The light wakes me up, it’s its job
The only sheet is wet again
Please stop it, your chirruping is dismaying
Are you starting to mutate?
I’ll follow you
In addition to the light
I know someone who is waking up
In addition to the birds
Someone whose waking up should wake me up too.
A word of advice, the heat is substantial enough,
Don’t ask any question.
This is positively called a divergent commonplace
Who are you to say it’ll resolve my nuclear fissions?

These North-American details
 I noticed them
Their time is made out of successive days
Their river side is made out of concrete
Their water is made out of water
I feel better
I’m constantly marking my territory
I must get out of here and sniff a compromise
I must look above to find it
I know perfectly not what I could find below
Deep in the sparrows’ urban discordances
Thinking to myself
This I must do it

I need something
Some esoteric Cantilena
Here in New York the first unlimited engagement is to forget
To let the town wash up my collective memory
With its carbodioxin-gloved hands
And I trust them
Conducting the rehearsal, they deliver me
From deciding which impossible one is the noise I need
They leave, right in the center of my inquisitive attention
Their chorus.