Dream of A Colonial Tourist   (i.) Instead of paradise a crowd of mosquitoes, possibly deadly angry monkeys, no shelter as advertised, our guide retreats in a helicopter shredding the clouds over shores unswimmable we huddle together quiet as tropical light fades to black, to try to get back to where we started means walking through a jungle in the dark we remain hopeless/tourists with more arriving lured by the same pamphlets we are now standing inside, we are now standing inside loss without words (without words we are nothing) and leave at once together.