Anthem for wasted stretches
with horns and lost bass by the orange
building across the street which may
be viewed through a living room window.
I dance and sleep alone, twisting my feet as though
something could be done about it
shifting restless and unsavory against nothing and the other
in emergency exit rows with ample leg and elbow room
I am No Captain
and you my Singular Beauty of the East are No Navigator
All I want is an exchange, the trading of places
No Captain and No Navigator, neé Singular Beauty of the East
returning to the state of being a singular
a we in the face of this us.
All collisions are accidents with no navigator at hand
All hands are accidents, all hands are collisions.