Citizen John

Am I a foul fellow when the house is longer than this morning? Am I the designer of the living room that doesn’t encourage formality, because we’re associated with rigid boundaries? I’m the next citizen of an affluent hovel. I’ll be the next coastal lowland along any gulf & hearing your voice, pattering on every rooftop, I cover all the island-dotted lakes with your shadow. Somewhere within, a breath produces vapour, making the sauna feel even hotter. Now if my shop doesn’t pay you, it means my family goes hungry. No public property is written off here. You’re the capital of these floating islands, a nice account in the only bank here, you can take my people for a holiday to May Isle. I get a bit of capital, nothing is your own, is it? It’s for her, my daughter in a white mask.

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