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Look at the monkey of the
field and see hands
in the grass and the grass and
the fields. His mind is
soft and falls through the
stalks, down past the soil, past
the critters, past the stones

The sad man from Turkey
who has aids, is not as
sad as I want him to be,
his faith is not sleeping
he wants to live for
families, eating Simit
in the mountains, like me.

“When the wild noise
came, slowly getting louder
I didn’t know what to do
like everyone, my friends were
by the sea. I didn’t know why
they went because it was cold and
windy and it didn’t seem like a
fun thing to do on a Sunday.
Now that part of the city,
the whole first half is under
water, I would need to swim to see
them. I know where they are,
by the white tower,
the one with all the tourists,
they’re probably wearing jackets.
One day they’ll be ancient jackets.”