I cup the head, falling down, posing as beautiful thought, suspended and capitalised, and not really anything, and flash the adornments as they are - grappling feigning arms of grace and wisdom; scratching, shivering out, rehearsed, and a lie. I have never met an I so diluted with others, so empathetic, so swamped with surrogate liability,  that the population swims in my palm,  irrespective of cuts and infections and rents a debt like an open space, filling up by emptying out, spreading skin like lace, publishing a wedding for kin, a sandal to the spokes, spun round by an army as flippant as a breeze…

…saving the flag…

                        that is clear…with thin lines of a face - a polythene stretch waiting for a fruit basket, and a pellucid barnacle for any axis-  and, no, never has such a passport obliged and banished so smugly. Breaking my heart with its kaleidoscope, it bears my ruby tears like a martyr and I wish it would fuck off.