Staten Island Land of Dead Angels
Staten Island land of dead angels and the post offices are always closed. I walked up streets and down street, and every cardboard box had a price tag, and every emerald house had a price tag, and all the price tags said one hundred billion dollars. Everything said one hundred billion dollars but an angel with his chest caved in and wings made out of paperclips and dirt. He spoke to me in a language I somehow knew although I’d never heard when I was awake, and when I woke, I was on the Staten Island ferry and the Statue of Liberty was staring at me like I’d never find a home.