From here I can look out the window to where the sea should be, 

past the cities with their tent cities I like to fantasize about what’s foreign

under smog’s sheer dress. Maybe it’s Asia, or Africa, or a forever

war that would never dream of blowing this far over seas. But all her

dresses look sexier on my TV anyway, there’s something about seeing

things in 2D you know? leaving it up to the depth of pixels to con-

trol the imagination. Some call it shallow but I say this way’s just easier

to monetize the private parts. With the window closed, our young

shadows lace clumsily with one another in the TV glow. Here, the

only worry is whether all my running is finally making any sort of a

noticeable difference. With the window closed I don’t see you

staring back from the other side, gleaming with the confidence of a

city at dusk, cutting with the sharpness of your skyscrapers, sinking

down into those openings in my chest, down where the warmthness grows.

2024