Trombone Trampoline Thesis

Cumbia Bomba, I could look it up, to the child all foreign languages are the same, and if you don’t understand them, all people are the same, if you don’t study them.  The study of people, the party of people doing keg stands, doing Brazilian, sirens, urgent conferences, the executive jumps, bathroom  boardroom trampoline the grin on the vice president as her suit skirt feels weightless, as the sound of a Mexican trombone, synthetic account, the unpublished doctoral thesis regret, I could look it up like my childhood video  recorded by a deceased relative, the great-grandmother her birds, her stars are all the same, our jumps leave air beneath us, shadows cast from creatures in the space between the unknown, the studied sounds of momento, of a heart, a party solves, reveals reset clocks traveling through time on a trombone trampoline thesis.