a love letter
written in braille

-for your fingers only-

provides the map
to an economy of shadows

where we trade words
instead of numbers

and the ones we don’t believe in

are always worth the most.

a row of coke bottles
stand to attention

stand in
the formation
of ten pins

you ask me to
step outside

and i remind you
that there is no out side.

out side

does not exist.

we are momentarily distracted

by the reassuring sight
of a couple waltzing
on a deserted railway platform.

dusk.

the hour that things
begin to
turn around.

a single airplane
dangles
behind a haze
of overhead wires

we take our weapons out
the moment it passes.

in this war

everything
must be interpreted
as a warning sign.