yellow and mosquitoes
in the squealing hooping
we're leaving the crushed glass beaches
I am gummy and sick sour
like flour left in water for too long
so that's the deep part of the map
the blank coasts
well I am glad for them, and the dogs and tigers
and the mules that don't mate
I am glad there is a sickness in me now
so the salt clocks me and the
chain rubbing the deck
the tar tackling and the shrouds
ohmerica you haven't changed since I
went down to mexico to find
china skeletons with submachine guns
and came back with a fear of chiclets
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