Plop plop shu shu hoot hoot wahhh
Plop plop shu shu hoot hoot wahhh
There's a dormant pat pat pat.
There's being back home.
There's a shiver scrape, a rumbling below.
There's a break, an assertion, a return.
A rolodex is whirring.
Jets drive the little centrifuges deep in Tennessee.
Chandra smiles hunched over in a raincoat.
His friends are getting their due.
Things are rumbling in Chandra.
The boundary bustles by the bulk.
In the cold, the buckling of the not-quite-infinite
gulps back in Amir and the burped-out-bits.
In the quietude, the Quaker nods,
exhaling the world's I-told-you-sos.
Leave your coat at the door.