What good is it to see for miles and miles,
the tired, lonely explorer said to the fat queen,
prostrate by her feet, still not allowed to go home.
I am dying of omens that no one recognizes
or understands, and I am under anesthesia
again, veil over my brain, so I may
be wrong or confused about even simple things.
It’s not what you think, the other side, not a dream
or a movie, but more a sifting diamond sand
washed up with the bodies on the shore of every
welcome home so don’t tread there; don’t be anything at all.