Rows of pinned husks hang/
from hooks, like tools or stolen bones./
But something flops at the base.
![](https://i0.wp.com/cutleafjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/1974.103_full.jpeg?resize=363%2C188&ssl=1)
Rows of pinned husks hang/
from hooks, like tools or stolen bones./
But something flops at the base.
The metro arrives looking similar/
to that childhood game/
where we had to prevent the ever/
growing snake from eating its own tail.
A single ferry leaves this house behind/
toward larger land. The passengers/
imagine their cities as they mute/
into the horizon.