The white-crowned sparrow is afraid of 3D. Time is a grain of sand with angel wings and each angle of the wing is shaped by grains of sand stuck together with a microscopic drop of Crazy Glue. We iron our hands out of desperation as the glue begins to dry. A new energy form emerges from the palm of the hand. A bird. Blob. Broken bicycle. Bra.
The invisible shapes are spacecrafts made visible through the process of observation. And patience. And loving-kindness. The eyes are impatient beasts and we brace ourselves against the white wall to brace ourselves against what we can’t see coming. The cerebral cortex is an emotional beast in a bathing suit. Thought rockets are invisible weather systems that are compulsive liars. Across the white space, a network of neo-neurons splinter across a selfish map of space + time, a map of ever-changelings.
The fractured and forgotten dreams of sparrows are thumb-tacked to the white wall. Neruda whispers azul, amor, alma as the birds whisper adieu. The world is blue and kept afloat by the real energy of sparrow wings. Each wing contains a billion possible hammocks containing a photograph of Einstein hammocking in a billion different universes. Electromagnetic interactions are dimensionless. The constant blue iron contains enough H2O to save the world from the catastrophe of poets, but the man wearing the baseball cap says blanco is problematic. Then he irons a poem of maps made of Silly Putty.