The nightlocked and cellular,
the landscape growsincreasingly perplexed
at the Color aspectsof American democracy,
asking questions aboutthe limits the social
can do. Autumn of policeshields. Sky’s dipper hangs
low; beanbag roundsand iPhone glow. Graffiti:
This is my name – I existed,like pulling a drop
from the drowning-river.How language can
put one somewhereand nowhere – a caged
on fire thing.