we're like boomerangs
going in reverse
returning back to where we
came from
part "Fantasy Hotel"
past the coconut palms
back into the cold
to come out the other side:
into the scorching heat, again -
we search out the extremes, we
won't settle for mediocre
except there's
no such thing, in this country, anyway
so we couldn't find it, anyway, even
if we
tried
I've never seen so many mangled bodies
I've denies them my four cents
because that's the rule here
and then I mourn
my own apathy
and console myself
by holding your head
with the
two good hands
I have
I walk past a
foetus of a man
nestled between the motorcycles
almost certainly an empty body
and I wonder why nobody
does anything
while I also do nothing
we descend back into the mountains
there's barely any streetlights
but I recognise their shadows
from the last time we were here
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