Permanently hung up in a gallery in our city
if one can call a city theirs
He was at sea
and from the sea the hills were a typography
of a wish upon a dandelion
but I “don’t think the lion’s smiling
when he his incisors shows”
Dandelion Taraxacum
from the Arabic tarashuq scattering
dispersal whose leaves if chewed
make you pee
The hills appeared as a palette of words
that tastes of tremor
a dopamine shuffle on pond face
unstilled by zephyr
and drawing in drowning
It was raining chalk non stop
up and down the shore