My jetlag had finally bid adieu in a land,
republic and former colony the size of my thumb,
but with the strength of bulls on steroids
running through
a field of democratic china shops.

and your money's no good here.
your name,
that silly outfit from little oz.

I have no pictures of myself here.
only a porcelain-plated version in orchid hues,
dwarfed by my favorite ivory window.

from which the fall would most certainly be glorious for
5
4
3
2
seconds.