Generation in a landscape
none belong
to us, the sick
snow-drawn generation
in a landscape bred
upon transhuman
soil growing tongues towards the ice
none belong
to us, the lines
in the landscape hanging
our hunger, the flowers
growing towards the tongues
are killer and killer
abundant landscape ope
though none belong
to us, this stem
uncurling when it all will want
to flatten precisely its target
-Brandon Shimoda
