4 April 2024
28 November 2024
tiresome story
I wept for the lost horizon
for how it denigrated us who moved toward it
by always moving away
and so I didn’t trust
America or Mars
or an old car in a dream
coughing as it started
on a cold morning
I keen a snivelling apprehension
that its rotating wheels
are each composed of three tireless
passengers
who don’t know one end of themselves
from the other