The Border Proceeds Funeral by Funeral

The Funeral Border

by Proceeds Funeral

I can’t offer you solstice. No, solace. So please, don’t cry inside me again. Customs lets you into simulation if you’re polished inside and out.

This crosser’s inside is un-polishable because it’s a room the crosser can’t find. I’m the crosser and the room I live in

has two entrances. A situation that’s been imprinted on me and here’s the situation: I can’t write a border better than the real border.

I’m instructed by customs to open the room that is easiest to access in my mind’s eye and my mind’s eye is a car show from Espera Fest. You steal time but please never buy it. Customs will give you so much time that you won’t have any of it. They talk and talk in the kiosk about the same landscape:

a fabrica that skirts and preys on wages. Those dollar signs are the fabric that shape our skirt. We make the fabric, we make the landscape and then, we make the day. All day you’re on the line

and you have to live in other people’s thoughts.