we are bringing seven balls to fill up the cannon holes which are different than the balls that we brought onto the ship to make sure we do not drown deep into the ocean sea.
tiny yellow bugs are painting halogen on my scalp, making the noise of wet feet on tile. they send a telegram to my spine rolling newsprint down my shoulder: what is outside my window?
fingers vibrate hovering over green rock raising hair and soil knotted roots become hands entwined a helicopter floats overhead we are the world our legs are moving.
There is this hotel next to the airport, where you can only stay once With All of these big rooms (eight-hundred thirty-one) For us to stay in And these Little foreign men Run all the elevators Wearing red jackets.