After China
It is what man has made. Cough
settled in and over perfect
cardboard skyscrapers waiting
to domino— empty, light, soundless, lost
behind haze that seeps into
a mind a tongue into scattered
vocabulary and nothing to
see in dizzying dark morning
brightness. Forced myopia,
this country moves in fog—
a building revealing itself,
hiding itself, car, motorcycle,
person in field and street corner,
all alone in this cloud. It is
blur.
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