May 6, 2019
I am reminded of you in transit, when alone, in my dreams. There’s a car sputtering up a hill—black smoke billowing, threatening to swallow other vehicles behind it. There’s a specific building for where people should have sex in, there’s a street where there’s rows and rows of this. There’s a windowless factory, inside are workers with no eyes. There’s a ship anchored near a Toy ‘R’ Us, I can see it from my hotel window—Ma says you’re in that ship. I can see you and yet I can’t. I call you, your voice is there. You’re not.