I visit South America via a dead
man’s words: undercover priests
and barren parks. I visit through a
different man’s images, exercising
in his underwear, laminating the
past. I’ve never been to Mexico
City, but I recognise the light.
I’ve never been to Santiago —
its history keeps me up at night.
People sell mobile phone holsters
in shaded kiosks in an urban
sprawl that moves at a crawl.
I once took a European night train,
but now I wait for something to
enter the frame.