Currency of yes
exchange rate rises between borders
changes hands like doves do
its feathers work the crowd
it’s the don quixote in station back-rooms
shekels for the weary
dirham for the pure and the almost sane
take me where the words are
lead me out of the dark
press with me against the wall
of this blue luminescent cave
then
on flags of that cave’s principality
stamp shadows of counterfeit statues
find the one with the plinth
it’s very tall
more so than your tallest lover
and climb it on the hour
you’ll be a different person every time
sleep to the beat if you like
the guards won’t let you fall
outdo Nelson
in his faux heroic elevated efflorescence
Pam Thompson 