Murder is a place that intervention fears to visit.
Those with heavy hearts peruse the brochures, and find themselves amongst passengers with similar itineraries, though unbeknownst to their pilot. Without passport or id, we’ve arrived to their islands, escapes, and dreams.
We stare out upon the water with mental paintbrushes, and umbrellas duel for the absence of our attention. One hides the sun, and the other decorates the liquor.
This is where we come to imagine, to love, live, die, and kill our realities, senses, and pain.
The churches, tombstones, statues, and photos prove we aren’t guilty.