no more rat race
my face masked
to ask others their motherlands
who cannot read
my lips precipitous
against the form-fitting fabric
but a mask with too many
holes holds
half the battle
of one with a gun sight
rickrackety
on caterpillar tracks
with the unrusted
buzz of a bot
in my earpiece
here are the coordinates
inordinate in their pin-
prick precision
a stalk a stork
a boy with a stick
a cloud of ungodly rain