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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476519" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Chewing On Memories Like Broken Mirrors In Her Sleep</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Chewing on memories like broken mirrors in her sleep<br>tears of blood run from her eyes.<br>She doesn't know I'm watching <br>but I've got windows everywhere.<br>But for her <br>just for her <br>because nobody else cares <br>third eye satellites with unlimited airspace<br>in her choice of skies to match her eyes.<br>A haemorrhage of sunsets. <br>Fly little bird fly <br>as if you weren't the shattered sparrow <br>God took his eye off <br>when you fell.<br>Sometimes the mystic oversights <br>have more to say <br>about the great revelations of the world <br>than all the burning bushes in the valley of Tuwa.<br>Rumours and news. <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>Be an apostate waterbird <br>and let your skull skip out over the lake <br>like the moon through a glass house <br>that's been asking for it for years.<br>There must be stars <br>that haven't bloomed yet <br>somewhere in the corner of a leftover garden <br>that no one's trampled on <br>like moon rocks <br>on a firewalk with a spoon<br>that hisses like the head of a viper <br>boiling with venom <br>at the tip of the tongue of a Zippo lighter. <br>Fly little bird fly <br>into a state of grace <br>that isn't tainted by your experience <br>of the taste of humanity <br>that threw you like bad meat <br>down your own wishing well.<br>How they pried your innocence out of you <br>like a flower before it was ready to open <br>like a keepsake from a locket <br>your mother gave to you on her death bed<br>like a silver bullet that would keep you safe <br>from the grave robbers <br>the moment you used it on yourself. <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>I don't know why <br>people attach more of an emergency <br>to the exit <br>than they do to the entrance <br>but I guess you'd have to ask a junkie about that <br>who's used to coming in through the back door <br>with a ticket to ride<br>that's better than a forged passport<br>to Disneyland<br>after you've done business with the Pentagon. <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>Don't lose your nerve for enlightenment. <br>There's the Bodhi tree. <br>There's Venus in the dawn. <br>And there's all this emptiness. <br>Isn't it sweeter <br>than a hot fix<br>once you've gone beyond <br>the last judgment between right and wrong<br>like the pick up sticks of the I Ching <br>into the nirvanic bliss<br>of discovering nothing <br>was your best guess after all? <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>Disappear into your own eyes <br>like a candle <br>that's stopped sticking its tongue out at the darkness<br>looking for a new place to hit. <br>Fly little bird fly <br>as if you weren't tarred and feathered like Icarus.<br>And may the sun that shines at midnight<br>find you a lot more approachable <br>than apple blossoms <br>scattered like ashes on the wind<br>or fireflies that can't hold their fixed positions <br>like the stars. <br>O it's so anatomically true <br>that life on earth hurts <br>especially when you've fallen <br>out of love with love <br>like a baby out of the nest of a lullaby. <br>Down will come baby <br>shaman and all.<br>I see your bruised body on the bed<br>like the embryo of some past miscarriage<br>that taught you how flesh <br>can grieve for its own death<br>while it's still alive.<br>I see the black haloes. <br>I see the bright horns. <br>I see the butterfly feelers<br>that have burnt out <br>like the short-lived filaments <br>of your average light bulb<br>and the place where you were anointed<br>with holy oil that hissed. <br>And it's hard to miss where the apple sat <br>when William Burroughs <br>shot you through the head<br>pretending he was William Tel<br>like your crackhead boyfriend did last night.<br>Luckily he missed your heart. <br>He should have hired a firing squad <br>instead of relying on a sniper.<br>You don't send a single viper <br>to do the job <br>of the whole snakepit <br>when you take out a contract <br>on anything as elusive as that. <br>I've made the bed <br>and you can lie in it alone <br>for as long as you want.<br>I'll keep watch over you <br>like a mongoose or a lighthouse<br>over a bird that was stared to stone by snakes<br>and I won't have anything to expiate <br>if I see their shadows <br>sliding hate mail under the door. <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>No more skies that lie like windows<br>about what you're going through. <br>No more pretending <br>those bruises on your arm <br>are rare orchids of jungle love.<br>When you went to sleep<br>tangled up in the powerlines<br>you couldn't teach to dance to your flute <br>and the rhythm of your body <br>like bullwhips <br>you might have felt<br>like a broken kite on a funeral pyre<br>but if my magic still works <br>by the time you wake up <br>I'll make sure <br>you open your eyes like a phoenix.<br>So fly little bird fly. <br>The world won't heal while you sleep. <br>Your lover won't have a change of heart.<br>He broke you like a chandelier<br>he threw down the road<br>in a drunken rage <br>on a Friday night<br>like a bottle of beer.<br>One solitude denies another theirs. <br>Lovers take each other hostage. <br>The rest is the Stockholm syndrome.<br>One fanatic. <br>One addict. <br>It looks like devotion <br>It looks like a life raft on the sea of love <br>but the ocean's gone rabid and mad. <br>Just look at the way it foams at the mouth.<br>Things are bad. <br>Fly little bird fly. <br>You're not caught in the chimney <br>with no way out. <br>You're the genie of the lamp. <br>You're the one that tunes the power lines <br>that are humming along with you <br>like Mozart with a sparrow. <br>You're the silence <br>that times the rhythm of the music.<br>You're the tuning fork <br>not the lightning rod <br>of a wanna be god <br>in a pick-up truck <br>who keeps you around <br>to beat on like a false idol<br>who shalt not come before him. <br>Stop pecking at the crumbs of your dreams<br>like the leftovers of a garden <br>that used to be secret <br>That's no way to get out of a labyrinth<br>when you've got wings.<br>So fly little bird fly.<br>Disappear into the depths of a starmap <br>that breaks into flames as you approach<br>the creative intensities of your own shining<br>like sumac in the fall. <br>Here's the dead branch. <br>Here's the green one.<br>You be the moon. <br>You be the blossom.<br>You be the firefly.<br>You be the hidden night bird<br>with the faraway call <br>that doesn't make the distinction at all<br>because you're too far gone to tell<br>by any feature of the light <br>you can often see things deeper <br>in a black mirror<br>than you can in a white.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476519" data-title="Chewing On Memories Like Broken Mirrors In Her Sleep de Patrick White" data-description="Chewing on memories like broken mirrors in her sleep
tears of blood run from her eyes.
She doesn't know I'm watching 
but I've got windows everywhere.
But for her 
just for her 
because nobody else cares 
third eye satellites with unlimited airspa..."></div>
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