at 6:30
everything is golden
even the mousey white man’s glasses
reflecting through the window screen
flashes theses projections
shifting shadows
blind or beaming their yellow shards
soldering my mind to them
with each turn
our eyes perceive intrinsically altered views
reflections on the salted body
then its dark and grey in the shade of kuli’ou’ou
and the sky
is oil above her indifferent arms
this is my time
and I would sleep all day till 6, never waking
I’d take
the route 23
like a photo, gunnin’ the shuttering seats carefully
in the evening
when everything is beautiful
even isolation
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