the never childhoods

we’ve filled our pockets
with small corpses of hanged sparrows
through the fabric’s ruptures
their beaks rewrite the code
of shame imprinted inside the skin
the same reason for which
we only strip
in the few hours of self-forgetting
when there is nothing more to lose
to scalpel-like glances

into this present time clothed in white walls
the windows bear the names
of each and every new pain
and just one exit

in those days
only our old traps for catching
when we were waiting
for new and fascinating limbs to grow
out of every
warm and flexible joint
but our ligaments hardened one by one
until reaching the state of disguised scaffolds

podiums for our crimes which
and useless
we carry in involuntary appendixes
hemmed under our clothes 

our childhoods have never happened
we’ve inherited a world
like an underground train tunnel to be constructed
for a further 1000 years
plans of a golden future for
every sacrificed generation
of which nothing ever is to be heard anymore

only that
they milked their own cows kept their potatoes in cellars
the cats close to the stove
close to hope for their grandchildren to fare far better
only that

they clipped their children’s lips with safety pins
to keep them close shut
to stop them from telling dangerous stories
in the presence of strangers
they were shouting like hungry chained dogs
“brothers, we won, the mouths of the cannons
are embracing us wide open”

a world out of which we’ve only kept a few scraps
barely readable
a new code of learned indifference
because we want some as well
because it’s long enough that we’ve been the undesirables
the ghost-neighbours walled
in historical forgeries
the ragged ones banished from the last leftovers
of supper verdigrised in China crockery
because we come late as dinosaurs
too long ignored
clattering our incomplete skeletons
smiling with our half-smashed jaws

brothers, we’re here
stop this madness
our pockets filled with hanged sparrows
are all the baggage we’re bringing along
greet us with the gates wide open
with your leashed dogs
growling at our every eye blink
with your fears fiercely dangling by your necks

in the last act
we find ourselves in front of a firing squad
on the other side it’s still us
mirroring the gestures of a world we don’t understand
the uniforms rustle like
hostile foil
we execute in a ripple of laughter unstoppable for almost
200 years on


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