TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Songs for 3:45 am

Well, this is Wed- nesday.

No, I don’t care what percent of the human body is water, and don’t you count for me how many times you could bathe inside me, I don’t care for washing my face, take it out of me, take out what you threw in me, left in me, take yourself out right now, for the love of fucking god. Or the constellation of gum stuck to the sidewalk, or bedding stuffed with the sound of seagulls, or the porn star that’s been inexplicably painted head to toe in gold, the Sun. It’d be really helpful to know the way right now. Whichever direction we turn in now, we’re just floundering toward thirst. About 7,000 kilometers from here, an unknown man stands next to a hydraulic press making fridge magnets from polyurethane resin that resemble beach towns with the word “CROATIA” painted on them. Or as sweet-season’d showers are to the ground.

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