for long i couldn’t figure out the meaning of words, their judgment, how to be precise, like an assignment in fifth grade on cardboard, precisely acceptable and precisely insufferable, or what to say to be through—a study of motives, a look without breaking eye contact with the tool that will hurt me. i’ve since taken …
the start. the crossing of borders. the migrants in migrant clothing—dilapidated walls roofed by the sight of overlords. the destination a sewage with salary.the excavated back of a dream. the myths where we are always stealing something.the danger sign in our rubiginous faces. the preference for tall and white. the eyes who look at us …