There is something shining through us
like how an overhead projector
fills a screen. We take apart
a big machine whose warning
lights attempt to scare us off.
We perfect the lie so it fails
to fool us even though the images
we find are all of everyone
in pieces in the streets.
Hollow threats of violence
and diseases that look like
dried glue under a microscope.
You’re called into a room,
and you don’t know why
you’re there, and all the art
that’s on the walls
are landscapes filled
with rotting trees
and mountains that look yellow
in the daylight.
Yellow Mountain Landscapes
Teleporting Typewriter 