Promise me exile if, as Camus says,
You slink to it. I am the better half
Myself, hooked up to wires in my own land.
And I am the lesser half and free in some way;
Well past the Pillars of Hercules I rival myself,
I read in the fine print that the borders are closed.
I quote my deliberate, foreign land.
The sky is flat, the scar is well hidden;
The shout of cicadas, the thirst of exile
Stranger than solitude or lopsided moons.
And cornered by Athena Nike in silence
I order coffee beside the old men.
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