the tea taste bitter to
the wilting monarch. She looses
her glasses and runs into
the market because she is
following her dog. The spices
don’t offer her any images and she
remains lost. The people have never seen
her, they didn’t know their
queen, they couldn’t save her.
Her child jumps off the bridge to asia
and she follows it, barking, she
is barking. The noise is echoing
up the bosphorous, but
she hasn’t fallen yet, the
cars don’t stop, they don’t
know their queen, they hand’t noticed her.