4. at a morgue

our fantasy land we'd flee
these wretched jobs selling crap
destined for landfill early

& thoughtless waste haunted
become a swell somewhere else
Italian town clad in green

yearn yet to know well our own
drab midden as if looked back
at far from now solace served

cold · other eyes delight at
our lamps our glib tap water
this desk orange felt & all

piled with vetust symbol-pods
nor dawn's glimmer gnawing yet
at the eye ventured out there

Yemen coffee.

"We all just want to be people, and none of us know what that means." --Jeff Vandermeer, Borne (2017)