typos.

is that you?

in a line of

identical yellow

men, 

with perfect circles

for their empty heads,

and their statuesque limbs

of curvy rectangles

mocking,

perhaps, tree branches,

or "man" in Chinese 

(with an extra stroke).

their bodies,

kyphotic,

each composed

of two legs

(one kneeling),

one arm (begging),

and a torso 

too short, 

too high.

frozen, all,

with the illusion

that they can run

on the feet

they do not have,

with my message

in the hand

they do not have,

and they are

notbreathing

without a nose,

notspeaking

without a mouth,

nothearing

without ears.

well, friend,

i am here.

and you 

are not.