BALLAST:

Birdsong boy rides a bicycle with slicked Black hair,
Black as the bird that settles on the road,
As boiler-suited bikers round islands of tiny palm trees,
It’s a building site,
Illuminated cranes fill the horizon at night,
An aroma in the lobby,
I can’t make my mind up if it’s bad!,
Infinity elevators that makes me feel drunk,
Followed by suited smilers with tiny brass name tags,
Each of them ask,
“Do you need help?”

(K)