I Carry Home Distortion

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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