It’s borders all the way down for the crosser. A blind item,
the border rules from the grave but doesn’t speak
of graves. Shallow is the sister city that refused
to shudder the fence. I’m from
there and still I blank on how the border works;
it just does. What customs says; they think
they saw someone who looked exactly like them in line.
Like a cousin from Delicias or a lost fraternal twin,
there’s country stuck in the city. I can’t believe
you’d say something like that during blank month.