Northern seas and clouds fill the valley with ghosts and outlaws.
Jade masks laugh at traffic cones,
robots wear them as fancy hats,
monsters drink tequila from them.
People hate robots. They love to talk to
house cleaners, car dealers, plumbers, tax advisors,
everyone with a clot of lonely soul somewhere in heaven.
It is unbearable, you see, to throw your words
into the vast array of understanding chasms,
one within another, insensible
to sorrow, fear and all the trifles and trinkets of existence.
But it is fine to ask what you would do with a chunk of frozen sea,
place it in your backyard or have it for breakfast.