Sandra Simonds
“Mr. Watson—come here—I want
to see you.” The harmonics of
Hello. Hi. Ahoy. Static electricity
when you rip apart two bodies.
Troops sent
to the border. I want to see
you too but I’m stranded inside
the engulfment of my eye, which is,
in itself, a kind of dying rhyme
or an embankment. Turned on
Democracy Now while at kids’ violin
lessons. More troops sent
to the border. I live in a swamp. You live inside
a ring of dry mountains. The Can Can
from the lesson, fascism closing into an elegy.
Bolsonaro, “We’ll dig graves.”
