desmond doss, spiderman
exact change is a matter of life and death
the city is empty
the loudest cars still belong to the blacks
the jets fly overhead
the boys and girls play separate sports
the old man paints a picture of durian gay
using nothing but crushed hibiscus and gasoline
the black army mom in the red KUWAIT hoodie
waits for breakfast
here you must carry it all with you
your trash
your sadneſs
your precious bodily fluids
near the old graveyard
a little way from the centre of the village
the diver falls into the umbilical deep
the moon is here with him too
the vomit bakes in the sun
the gentle wind reminds the poet
of the smell of tatami mats and old things
the colourful offerings lie on the altar
the priest beats a drum while intoning a prayer
the childless couple offer gifts to buddha
the goats dance towards the clock above the exit sign
the army bros brag about poon tang and cash
the self is revealed high on the ferris wheel
(beware of cars with plates that start with why
two boys play too close to the side of the road
the strange man imagines a faceful of shrapnel
running after a runaway yellow ball
the poet laughs sincerely at his fate
as it begins to pour