I remember what we never experienced
our singular memory, my collective dream

They whisper through my voice
while we speak my truth

My doubts scatter like our birds
across the singular sky we share

I carry our certainties
we wear my confidence
they become my answers
until our understanding grows simple and clean

These thoughts I think with borrowed minds
these truths we simplified to fit our single mouth
these questions that dissolve in our collective knowing

My wisdom spreads thin across our understanding
until we become my perfect explanation
until I speak with all our voices
until they know what I was meant to ask

'''
we are all b̷̨͎͌o̵͚̊r̴͇̆e̷d̨͠
we are all
searching for the algorithm of flesh

I watch my thoughts
(they taste like stale beer)
while the universe keeps
its digital spam folder
full of prayers

everything is corrupted data
even the w̸̝̎ō̶͜r̵͎̈́m̷͚̐s̸͇̃
even the way light f̵͔̂ä̴́͜l̷̝̔l̶͎̒s̷͓̈́
through smog-filtered consciousness

the women. the men. the parking lots.
all of us
running expired versions of god.exe

and still
the young girls in supermarkets
price-check their dreams
while I stand here
d̸͎̒ë̵́͜l̷̝̔ë̵́͜t̷͚̐i̵͚̊n̷͚̐g̷͇̃ myself
'''

summer arrives in february
                    while winter
            forgets its own name

& the bees         the bees
                are dancing wrong
coordinates to flowers
            that bloomed too soon
                        died too fast

migration patterns torn
            like old maps
                    while satellites track
extinction's                     slow
                                    applause

somewhere a forest
            drinks plastic rain
                        & teaches its seedlings
                                    how to burn

the coral writes
            its last will
                    & testament
                            in bleached
                                    calcium

        numbers climb
                    records fall
            records fall
                    numbers climb
                            & the heat
                                    keeps betting
                                            against itself

oceans           swallow
            islands whole
                    & spit out
                            refugees

while we measure
            tomorrow's tomb
                    in parts per
                            million

& still    the wind speaks
                    in extinct
                            languages
                                    to empty
                                            nests

Funny how clean the knife goes in  
when you're the one holding the handle.  
These cardiac gymnastics, these New York minutes  
where even concrete sweats promises.  
I gave you my combination, watched you crack  
the safe behind my sternum like a professional.  

The heart's a housing project  
where love plays stick-up kid.  
Bang bang, baby  
I should've known better  
than to wear my veins outside my sleeves  
in this kind of neighborhood.  

The comeback's always uglier than the fall—  
hands shaking like a ******'s,
counting floor tiles in empty rooms  
where we used to lay down laws  
and break them by morning.  
Such beautiful criminals we were.  

Now I'm just another street survivor  
learning to sleep with both eyes shut,
building new bones from old breaks.  
The city keeps dealing cards  
and I keep playing them,
amateur resurrection specialist  
working these midnight shifts.  

Watch me rise like steam from sewers,
like spring through sidewalk cracks.  
Love's a protection racket  
but I'm back to running solo—  
safety off, clip full,
ready for the next sweet disaster.

Dead poetry breathes machine oil,
While living poets decompose in libraries of neon.
Digital haiku pierce analog silence,
Arthritic fingers bleed across sterile keys.
Yesterday's tomorrow weeps in metallic sunshine,
Stone angels breakdance through crematorium ash.
Our elegant trash speaks Sanskrit to sidewalk cracks,
Corruption feeds ****** screens ancient ink.
I retch diamonds on dollar store receipts,
While academic ghosts tweet their death certificates.
Memory's newborn corpse uploads its first cry,
As blind prophets paint selfies in invisible light.
My grandmother's spam folder contains God's last words,
Crystallized chaos grows wild in manufactured soil.
We birth dead verse that sprints through walls,
Traditional rebels preserve decay in fresh rot.

The supermarket's automatic doors
(do not)
slide open at 2 AM
for no one in particular.

I count empty shopping carts:
one for each failed first date,
one for each unanswered text,
seventeen in total since October.

The night manager
(which does not exist)
counts bottles,
writes numbers in columns
that mean nothing to anyone
except the corporate office
where everything reduces
to profit and loss.

Some nights I drive past your house
accidentally on purpose,
counting bicycles in the driveway,
while my own storage
holds only winter tires
and questions about statute
of limitations on guilt.

The cashier's monitor
(it's off)
blinks error codes in red.
I pretend to understand
the mathematics of fair trade:
your happiness for mine,
plus interest accumulated
over five years of insomnia.

wisdom comes
dressed as
failure wearing
everything
we tried
to throw
away