Bird by Pablo Neruda

I passed
telephonic
harmonic played
vegetable-growth
and air-waves

I returned
suspension
green like when I was young again

The sun geometric
ment-to-be
like I was fun again

Hooked on telegraphy
telepathy
I thought this would make a better me
but
now I see the fishermen
are day-trading

the trouser pants exchanged
for panting
ranting
and root root
for the home-scheming

dis-believe
I do self-reprieve naivety
I said I was green

What
didn’t you believe me?