If you care for me, eat me now. I will be safe inside your moist belly. Out here in wretched sandstorm corridor I am a number. I am a convert. They want to yell at me: Stockholm Syndrome! I answer to Esther. I answer to Mary. I am the birth of a big blue ball and called it Freedom. It’s at the bottom of the ocean. Plastic bags wash up like crabs. I go in you like an eel, slippery and fanged / I go in you parasitic to reclaim what was my birthright. What was my birthright? When the ball popped it was the waters and they drained marshes for tanneries and swamps for desalination. So - I salt the inside of you until you turn yourself to brine and melt, like a slug - shriveling in the merciless sunshine.