Content Warning: death, bones, dark themes

I take a bus in this ghost town every time

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I come visiting. In this universe, the mountains

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hang upside down with the trees walking around.

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Here, time only crawls counterclockwise, & the

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pieces of the real world only rains thunderstorms.

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From afar, I sight Uncle Sam who got vomited by

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a river-lifeless-after forty-eight hours. They say his

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demise is wrapped in skepticism but how do you

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teach the dead the taste of truth. My grandmother's

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eyes still shelters a night, sepulchering the sores that

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comes with the downpour of grief. In this universe,

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the streets are celebrated for the bone-lined boulevards,

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carrying the history of lost things. & the sky is pregnant

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with unending supplications offered at their graveside. Everyone

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here walks backwards to avoid the superimposition of worlds.

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I wonder who told you that the unliving is tasty

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for prayers because in this place you are a portrayal of how

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you've lived. The wind forms a cloud of ash around our feet.

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This transfiguration is a ritual for soul cleansing. Perhaps

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you would consider this place as purgatory. Take this

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message to mama, tell her that every time I visit this ghost

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town I feel at home.