I am one of the low countries and, though predictions of cataclysms rise and fall, I'll probably always be one of the low countries.

My people are as statuesque as brioches. Even my monuments refuse to soar.

You don’t know when or why it started. People ask you about it sometimes when you mention that you have suffered from depression. You give them some bullshit answer about it being a delayed reaction to your parents’ divorce.

The queue is long

like a train serpentine,

crawling in silence

at the borders;

the faces, all vacant