street view

a poem

It breathes on its side, this
strip of vacant reclusion

An individual totality, 

silent repeater

There is no origin story, we lost our voices, and we are trying to carry on

We want to carry on in peace, we would like to carry on as if nothing happened
we tried, you tried, and I 
tried

This impassive voice on the side of the mountain drools a turquoise substance
It’s yielding an unfriendly odor around the camp
Don’t touch it, stay away and 
watch it from a distance

This is our street view