Despite attempts to crease me,
I remain a vacant atlas.
You are here to collect
my dead money in the homeland
where the bought bombs fall,
where I never made a home.
In the land of blood I was tried
as an adult second.
I was born a debt unmothered.
When burdened to speak,
your word was last in my jaw.
I freed you
from the boneyard I will be.
This self house
against endlessness.