I had been considering today, becoming a refugee
into bright deep sky wilderness no longer crowned
with stars; it is the thousands dead/I was considering,
if you would take me. Waves oscillate/reverse current,
spent thousands to bring me here, parents
considered. Not long before that little peninsula
across seeks to withdraw blood into its heart,
notices me, says, “Oh, I have been meaning to write
a postcard. How fare you this fine evening?”
as I retch out Americana/overseas Korean.
Two poles stake my tent over sea continent sea.
Territory I can claim/does not claim me.
If I die, rock me westward—or do as the old
whalers: unfurl me down the Nantucket beachhead.
I am considering how to shed my mammal skin,
how my possessions would fit, no matter how damp,
into that craft. I have been on logistics all day,
donations/rubbish for the curb, induce current flow
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