‎‎021 where the cornrows are wild ‎in fettle; open curls on the roadside. ‎ ‎out there, dead or alive ‎my face is probably on the trees, ‎like any other crime―charged with a fee. ‎ ‎I'm taking my cloves of mangosteen―to ‎another country in the west with me; taking my shoes off on road concrete. ‎ ‎aki-aki's been marinating in the sun; ‎I'm taking his bones, too―imbrued ‎on the edge of green. ‎ ‎I hope so, as I'm airborne― ‎to pass the archipelago; ‎toss away a bit of gross weight―and ‎dry on the window. ‎ ‎thinking of England; surely there'll be ‎a better audience for my poetry― ‎though I'm past it and it's ‎past 19th century. ‎ ‎spring dream in a boat ‎moving clockwise―the direction of ‎a free monarchy. ‎ ‎my wish is that I wake up in a new flesh― ‎to remove myself from a clingstone. ‎the people of the crib will plant and ‎tend to me in―foreign soil. ‎ ‎aki-aki says to never forget ‎the island―where we are forged. ‎oh, I know I won't―it is in my heart. ‎ ‎for you, I'd return, ‎but for now I'll serve in the west. ‎I've already raised my pinky to the sky; ‎you'll see me again, pa, ‎ and ‎I'll see you again. ‎