The news said:
"It's entirely likely,
in fact, it's more likely,
that we are living in a simulation."

The circus and the chorus lines
are just for the architect's amusement.
When the leotards on the high wire
fall, he laughs the hardest.

Measuring the moon with his hands,
does anyone knows its' circumference?
"If someone can measure the moon,
we are better off."

Everyone forgets
the fallen artist,
and stares at the moon.
Some shout indiscriminately.

Three engineers
create a proof,
that creates an equation,
that is widely believed
for the next 100 years, before
proven later to be false.

The artist nurses his broken knee.
"Can't anyone see I'm suffering?"
Everyone stares at the moon.

There’s peanut butter where the tongue used to be
All the heart’s mutterings stuck in the throat
The honey wheat lips crumbling under prying fingers
That try to set the desperate things free

Hours, days, weeks, pass, I guess
I guess my hands were deep in my deepest pockets
Pockets of - I honestly couldn’t tell you where I’ve been
What I’ve done, or how I got here

But here, here is exactly where I am, I think
I think, wrapping my fingers around the fibers
Fibers of feelings, places, people, wishing
Wishing I knew how to weave, so I could
Weave it back together, across the Great Divide
Between body and mind
Body doing whatever bodies do
When they’re left behind

i come from whispers of Venezuelan lullabies
y las stories que viene del corazon de mi mama.
the annual celebracion de Corpus Christi is a
constant reminder de la amarilla, azul, y sangre roja
coursing through my veins.
when i was younger,
yo baile durante horas con mi papa
and sung at the top of my lungs
until the last bit of oxygen
en mi pulmones deteriorated.
mi cultura is the incarnation of who i am,
it inhabits every cell en mi cuerpo,
and never will i ever consider
disintegrating the ashes on which mis ancestros
were founded upon.
it's the embodiment of my children, and their children;
it's mi vida y mi alma,
and no one could ever tear down the walls
of this Venezuelan throne.

I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay I'm gay
it kind of
spills off my tongue
when I don’t want it to
an
impulse
a
burning choke in my throat
falling out of me when I wish it would stay inside
when strangers are around
when
they really don’t need to know

it’s painted on my face
it’s written on the backs of my hands
my collarbone is burning white hot with a tell
and my eyes watering every secret of it

can they tell?
can everyone see right through me?
I’m
too scared to ask
somehow
also too scared to keep it inside

It wants out more than anything
but
she wants to be safe more than anything

I poke my cat square in the lips,
And a giggle bubbles past my own.
She throws herself down beside me,
Purring madly.
I lay my face against her soft, warm belly
Thinking how silly to learn patience from a cat
Not realizing
As soon as I turn out the lights
She won’t bury her ****
On purpose.

He closed his eyes tight
and held a straight face
Mouth a door
Eyes like windows
I wanted to ask him what it’s like
to live in that body-house
Shades drawn
Braced and braced and braced
Against
And, and, I wanted to ask him, 

Who will tend the gardens?