ground bound in americaland.
the
maps
were right
and I’m feeling vaguely sci fi.
I am burnt and tacky with the sweat and fire of travel.
my
grainy eyes
a dawn.
I am alive with the suddenness of night. a sky tourist
lost
my
soft
fedora.
JFK is barn owl quiet
different fonts on signs
tell
me
which tunnels to walk.
(pass modern birds roosting behind grey glass)
I
piss up a silver wall subdued monkey hangs off shoulder.
a deep movie voice booms warnings
with
american
DRAMA.
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