To the Birds That Sing Over the Internet Jungles

They’re coming down from the sky
To land on my tree
On the branches of my tree

What hellish power
Do they make me face?
What fierce heavenly hierarchy?

Their rhythms when they sing
Force me into the ritual
In an angelic tongue that burns
They want to enchant me
With magical sounds
And trills full of mystery

They scream their virtue only to fall silent
Adam copied that
Lying on my roof
Where could those
Pretty dead little birds be from?

I lost my words
I took my birds
To the winter of the screens
How novel they are
The little birds with
Their sharp, shiny teeth

Here they come, hungry
We’ve known each other forever
Their rhythms when they sing
Force me into the ritual

In an angelic tongue that burns
That burns
It burns us
Burns!