and throughout Liminality,
a clear emergence:
the space inside transition
that once was uncertainty
could instead be
exploration and freedom;
less control and more agency
as paradoxical as it feels,
in this wild state
in which evolutionary conditions
struggle to adapt
to such frantic
realism

I think they fumbled
when they said
we should pursue happiness
I now think that's something
you stumble
upon
like tripping down stairs
(and equally as painful)
except the bruise
tells you
a secret that neither
the floor above
or an elevator ride
could have told you
from trigger to response
stimulus intensifies
but you cannot stumble upon
without carving a gap
inside
to slow, to ponder
to chew without rumination
to wonder without
expectations
especially from ourselves
that's how you may find it
without hurry, without
anxiety
it'll be a gentle knock
least expected
that has finally
arrived

two months later
and it already feels
like a distant dream
the slowly growing hair
the only reminder
of what I've been
through
there is a small sense
of hope
and dreams
like it was a warning sign
even if I did nothing
to deserve it
I just was
and will continue
to be
part of me
thinking its overcome
but another part
still afraid
that this was a trial run
for the real thing.

would you believe
I only get burnout
from my hobbies
and not my full time
employment?
the ideas explode
faster than I can deploy them
inside,
echoes become
chain reactions
become
nuclear fission
become
tactical explosions
become
mutually assured destruction
I should I should I should
I should certainly rest
without guilt
to take it easy
go for a trip
or simply sleep
alas this drive
I cannot quit
with both the handbrake on
and a strange steering
cliffs and walls approach
I have learned to let go a bit
but there's still so much more
to go.

a brush with death
painted with the most gentle
of brushes
a full moon piercing the fog
in between cold, rain, and wind
1x BEP is the name of the game
with the most attentive of nurses
in a calm quiet hospital room
I am the youngest patient there
I get looks
But we all carry the IV stand
just the same
when we use the toilet

Halfway through it's semi-tolerable
no worse than a bad night out
but more persistent
forcing tiny meals through mild nausea
so as to not get worse nausea
through less meals
In the morning, we'd all arrive like school children to the hospital,
my parents driving me, their children driving them
I may even have a crush on a couple of nurses already
but mostly I simply
distract myself from reality
with music, books, movies, social media
and plenty of sleep
it has become a full time job updating everyone
I would be curious too, after all

the catheter is the annoying part
a strange appendix piercing skin
after three stabs to get it right
almost fainting me
I keep expecting this whole thing
to get worse
as the toxic cocktail slowly accumulates
I'm already pretty sensitive
as far as men go
that's why I'm writing this
instead of pretending
it doesn't affect me
at all.

family is always best
at pushing buttons
triggers ready
while safety is off
but at last
some rest
for how can I afford
to get upset
when I'm discovering
in real time
if my body needs to puke
or I'm about to faint
or if the constipation
might turn into an explosive
evacuation
at the last minute.
yet another hidden gem
from this gift that keeps on giving
which is
slowly being poisoned
again

there's the objective concepts,
of trauma, prejudice, guilt, lust,
then there's the cultural flavors
of them.
how colorful these are,
how disorienting,
to one arriving someplace else
without assimilating;
that we should learn the differences
lest we fall into the confusion
that only our flavor of
weakness
exists

indifference used to be
the prison,
but now
it is
the
fuel.
it used to be a heavy weight,
but now I can fly
far
away;
in short:
weakness
into
strength.
and for those
still trapped,
I say,
everything can be
an asset:
fear,
pain,
weakness of will,
or of the physical.
all from Nature,
at your disposal,
night or day.

the couple of times per year
when I return to Lisbon
I wish for my mother
to again be my alarm clock
just as she was
when I was little
I suspect this annoys her
for I am much older now
I should know better
but I cannot quantify that comfort
of her voice, lifting that burden
if only briefly
even if she does so
chiefly
I couldn’t explain it well
that feeling
and admittedly
not much time has passed
since then
except now
when I brush my hair
the first white strands
leave my head

that which is naturally salient to you
informs you of your past
that which you choose to be salient to you
shall carry you forward
the fact you can even choose
or even just being aware
of such a term - salience
is perhaps the greatest tool
contained in just
eight letters

we keep changing the names
of things
as if better semantics
will help us change our nature
but whether you call it
emotion overflowing reason
the furies awakening
having one's buttons pushed
or getting triggered
the human condition
remains
unadulterated
pure
its essence stubbornly
bare

'I think I have hemorrhoids'
I said
'oh my gawd key-koh, I have them too'
she replied
'we're hemorrhoids buddies now'
I finalized
as I also realized
we were two strangers in the metaverse
talking about *******
and from all the possible friends
this twelve year old kid
was the only one around
what a loser I must be, what a perv
even though I just wish she'd logged off
and be safe(r) in the real world
I guess I'm too old to care anymore
even if the topic is hemorrhoids
as long as the place it's coming from
is honesty and benevolence

hunger elevates the meal
the brief respite
a welcome sight
the subtle art of the deal
between beast and human
kind is the fire
roasting such feast
but kinder is the period
in-between
the gap, the void
the wrestling
a contrast of scarcity
and plenty
the simple meal
rising to a level of kings
available to all
who delay gratification
with the power of will

the slow closing of a heavy glass door
the humming of the air conditioner
the distant banging of construction work
the occasional hurried or lazy steps
just outside
on the sidewalk made of cobblestones
a child's voice mildly annoyed
tires on the road
and a gentle honk
diffused chatter melting in the background
the exact anxious business chatter of an interior design store
the frequencies I don't hear anymore
from flickering lights
rustling clothes
breathing in and out of noses
all of this in an instant
a moment
in a late morning
of the childhood neighborhood
as they discuss the furniture for the new home
away from the memory, from the past,
filled with a promise
hoping this time it will
last.

time is simply
I n c o m p r e h e n s I b l e
this video is like
another dimension
a reality recorded
outside the memory
of it
who is this child
whose context I recognize
and a vague feeling
like an out of tune
guitar
this is a melody
which no longer
rhymes
I am disturbed
and I cannot
abide
refusal and denial
old pals of mine
whisper ever so closely
the bites of the chargebacks
of such gentle rhymes
and dissociation, that gentle
stranger
greets me back
'you were here before'
'you shall return'

"keeeey-koh"
said an excited high pitched voice
and then came the bouncy
floppy ears
and the flowy hair
dip-dyed.
from the chaos of the
optimized box
to the quiet YTS
you're too young...
you shouldn't be there
this is full of monsters
it's better to be lonely
than with them
I wish your parents were better
as I wish for mine
I wish you grew up in my time
Mostly, I wish you make it out
alive
it's okay, expected even
to get very hurt
but it only takes one moment
to end it all
forever
the finality contrasting highly
with the casual presentation of this
universe (metaverse)
a shock shaking to the core
a lesson learned heavily
that cliché of moderation
could end up saving your
life
I'm no angel and cannot look over
forever
I cannot even teach everything needed
for there is no time
and you wouldn't listen
just as I didn't
before my own
prime

I gotta be honest with you folks
I am not looking forward to the start
of this glorious new year
of our mythical lord
of twenty twenty five
I have an existential weariness
that has been slowly grinding me
and my batteries are drained
and I keep forgetting their names
and I don't want any more syringes
things going wrong
precautions within cautions within
causes
and did you know I only had a
zero point zero one two per cent
chance of getting in this mess
that's one in every eight thousand
and three hundred men
Christ, a man this lucky
oughta be playing the lottery
yet the only ticket I want
is getting out of this ride
as soon as possible
and if I can help it
relatively unscathed
except for the scars and memories
from this very strange place.

my poems are short
because I am impatient
the tension must be resolved
quickly
if you or I wanted edging
**** would be a better
and quicker
way of doing
it
my poems are funny
in that nonchalant
way
occasionally somber
and melancholic
so you don't get poisoned
in that toxic positivity
craze
and the humor heals
whatever is left of me and you
after a long work
day
my poems are in at least
three languages
but mostly english
as I am the interloper
sea out of the fish
that learned to drive
when it only had fins
my poems are written
while crapping
or barely asleep
or standing and dissociating
in some queue or walk
or ignoring netflix
in the TV
my poems use simple
vocabulary
slow, almost
challenged
not very rich
a type of colorblindness
of words
to mimic my
own faults
my poems probably sound similar
to someone you've read before
are they unoriginal
or familiar
or nothing more?
my poems are not therapy
I couldn't otherwise
live with the fact
I was paying so much
to my therapist
my poems are raw
rude, *****
and not just a few
explicit and arrogant
maybe even misogynistic
cheap attempts
at honesty
hiding behind the language
blurring my imagination
with the reality
that I'm not gonna make it
in any meaning of the word
my poems are short
but not this one
****, someone call the editor
this blunder is one
too
many.

I catch myself
impatient with the world
as the world was impatient
with me
when I was young
and slow and clueless
nothing is ever obvious
to everyone all at once
time is limited, I understand
the logical imperative
of impatience
but I don't understand
the meanness of
it

He died in ninety four
but these poems are from ninety two
he had two years left
but didn't know it
I was two years old
and didn't know him too
sixty six years of difference
now I'm thirty four
I feel like I have two years left
or even less
two years ago I read him less
while I traveled europe
careless
and a single cell
a seed of death
began to spread
and if I had done nothing
I too would only have
two years left
what a difference
two years can make
I'm almost afraid
of the next two
but how peaceful he looks
on that garden tomb
in this internet picture
on this monday afternoon

do you still remember who you were
when you first fell in love
and that ball of healing light
cured it all?
and the promise overcame
doubt
and the challenges a chance
to shout to the universe
"you can even take it all,
but this right now,
this one is never gone"
a simple change in
perception and focus
changes everything
you don't have to call it love
again
but you can
get well
from it

we all carry weights
thinking we'll be strong
and better off
for it
if we identify with something
at least we won't be
nothing
and alone
even if that something
has no business
being
and for all the causes and
effects
of modernity
and the mechanistic approach
the mind continues to be
the heavyweight
champion
we can't choose
deep down
yet we can choose to choose
as long as there's
no doubt

life is about the small concessions
we make to friends and family
my niece, twenty, turns and says
"uncle, you need a style makeover"
so she gifts me a sweater for Christmas
"alright", I said
so now I wear it
I suppose if it was as easy
as changing clothes
even I would have figured it out
by now
I hope she doesn't get too sad
when she figures out
it's not enough
herself

nothing quite smells like
fresh wastewater in the morning
they wanted me at the treatment plant
hovering over a pump that gave up
and knows better than all of us
that moving **** around is just a temporary fix
they want me over the sensor
that gave up in solidarity with the pump
and needs a bigger skin care routine
than all the women I've ever seen
the electric Peugeot van to get there
who only does the speed limit
also knows better than me
that there is no rush
to risk our lives
the **** will still be there
they want me at the meetings
it's important that we know what we're all doing
we wouldn't want to treat the ****
more than it needs to be
though I suspect the real reason
we're all there on a Monday
is so we don't feel completely alone
when we have to be
all the other days

you scroll on tiktok while taking a ****
I write poetry
and scroll too
and read
productive as fluids leave
and art and boredom creep in
the answer to the age old question
of why men spend so long in the bathroom
most men don't know what to do
and I pretend too
as our assess speak to one another
via our sewage connection system
the farts whisper softly
"no matter how much you try to forget"
"you are this stinking imperfect body"

I had been a citizen for three years
and after the millions spent on me
in welfare and expensive medical machines
it felt like they were more desperate
than me
"no he can't die yet"
"we have to fix him"
"he owes us more than forty five years"
"of labor and taxes"
maybe the economy will crumble
maybe they'll name a recession after me
and curiously
now I feel I owe them something
though I'm not sure what
a billion of half-me's already frozen
for ten years in the clinic
ought to have them covered
in case all those CT scans, MRIs, and chemo
don't quite cut it

"oh, you've shaved your head"
she said
"new look?"
"yeah"
I replied
"I call it: non-seminoma"
"I now belong to that rare club"
"must be fun"
she snorted
"it is"
and I was glad at least
she was not a gravedigger

anxiety, my
mistress, my
muse
never enough for
panic
always there like
static
the buzz around the
brain
the biting of all the
nails

yes, I have done more
from this anxiety
than most people do
in their whole life, but
it was forced, not natural
like driving with the handbrake on
pedal to the metal
in this crash course
until the car unalives
and there's only a ghost

whenever I was feeling a bit too
content
comfortable
cocky
I took great pleasure in watching some of my favorite war stories
Saving Private Ryan
Band of Brothers
Apocalypse Now
Gladiator
Black Hawk Down
Generation ****
Full Metal Jacket
Come and See
and others
and if I was particularly up in the sky
I'd watch more like
V for Vendetta
Lord of the Rings
Gravity
Alien
Elysium
Rogue One
Interstellar
Jurassic Park
and The Walking Dead
and soak in all that individual suffering
and drive for survival
and quickly fall down to earth
but somehow also be energized
for the plight of the stories
was not as bad as my own
and I was not as strong as they were
yet even if just a little of that strength
rubbed off on me
inspired me
transversed the air between the screen
and my eyes
through some still unknown
knowledge osmosis process
I could make it
even if everyone else around
wouldn't

I allow myself the expensive hobby
of dreaming in this such economy
I dream I can start a company
and make it work
and it's a topic I love
and I get paid more for my work
with such money I buy even more
useless stuff
short term experiences
more collectors of dust
I dream I can even buy a house
and debt is not a problem
and I have room for me
and all my dreams
in each of the rooms
and even room for you
someday
ah, yes, I also dream of you
perhaps an old-fashioned
meet-cute
as we grow in love
I dream I resist the urge to yell
"what took you so **** long"
I will not dream so much of destinations
but of the freedom to travel
to see friends and family more often
no longer constrained
by the price of luggage
and available dates
and the ticking climate
in my conscience
that it's too late.

there is nothing more motivating
than a (mortal) deadline
and suddenly I am like a fighter jet
who has a lock-on by enemy missiles
and is desperately trying
to release all those countermeasure
flares

the phantom pain hits me
and I remembered when I did
long roadtrips across Europe
in each separate roadtrip
there was always a cost to Tachi
(the blue tesla purchased with pokemon cards)
it was a flat tire
or a scratch in the paint
or hitting the curb and bending the bumper
or a crack in the windshield
or the rims slowly grinding down
as I tried to park
there is always a cost
to traveling
and to get where I was going next
I had surgery and left something behind
not quite as paint
but deeper than that
and now the phantom pain
reminds me
I have more to go
and still a lot
to leave behind

I sit comfortably on the sofa
with the toaster strapped to my face
lights flicker through the leaks to my skin
a psychedelic spectacle unfolds before me
the so called vrchat rave scene
we all don our costumes
mine being a dope cat
with a beanie hat
holding a joint and slurry
the events are never ending
overwhelming
on this friday night scene
I join the first, it's been a while
but there are more avatars around
there's something comforting in knowing
I'm not the only one here.
as the DJ set begins
lights and particles bathe us all in
they drum to the sounds
like sand in the desert
and big footsteps vibrating
I raise my virtual paw
I can almost feel it all
as they move back and forth
crossing me like a ghost
the other avatars, shy at first
gradually
start dancing
the previously only visual piece
translated to human energy
the furries, the catgirls, the normies
all optimized avis
so we don't crash ourselves
chatting and listening and
experiencing
a shared obscenity
that is this simulacra and simulation
which is simultaneously
comforting me.

I see you care for nothing
as nothing cares for you
it's payback time
if only it were true
I never understood the appeal
of haikus
so this will continue
right on through
until you are shaken
to the core
and hopefully awakened
more than expected
in this all nighter I'm pulling
to get the point across
absence, by definition, is lacking
can you, by recognition, acquire it
without realizing how such magic
you are refusing to tap in
is self-made as well as densely paid
with a few euros worth of effort
that you discard already anyway?

i'm a beautiful sculpture of a cutiepie
hunk of a powerful figure of a man
carved of mcvegans, french fries,
asahi beers, kinder maxis, ciabatta
sandwiches, popcorn, lemon-flavoured
pepsi max, macadamias and pistachios
green and red wine, occasional carlsberg
(folköl), aglio e oglio, snickers bars,
salted lays, bashmati rice,
and cheap frozen pizzas from Willys
bought ten minutes before closing time

underneath the floor
there is silence
except for my art
as I drag the sofa
back and forth
to make room
for the play area
or to eat while watching a movie
above the ceiling
its a mediocre play
no rhythm, no beats
tolerable beyond its rarity
sometimes voices
mostly from the TV
given the timing on the daily
behind the walls, more of the same
no passionate banging
no cries of ecstasy
except whatever resonates from my own
about once year
the one party now quiet
as families and routines
settled in
there is less and less room
for us all
including the sound
that once must have roared
in this building ten
when the young could afford
the future on a credit hold

we all think we had
the wrong starter pack
to explain this mess
this eleven year old
explaining me how her mom was ***** young
and her mom's husband, her dad,
is abusive and narcissistic
and she spends her time in vrchat
getting rejected by strangers
for being too young and therefore
dangerous
but witnessing also all the weirdos
hunting this jungle
while her parents argue
instead of warning her
this seventeen year old
adopted
moving from state to state
by her mom's job
stuck in eighth grade
adopting dad in jail
lifetime punishment for driving
and killing one poor soul
but at least she is six months older
than her boyfriend
and can meet him virtually
and not feel so alone
even if she could be better alone
than with unwanting biological parents
or a hateful adopting father
or more weirdos on the internet
there are many more
wrong starter packs
perhaps all starter packs
are wrong be definition
because nothing could ever be
perfect
and if it was
what would be the
reason?

Another game, Squad
as I press the map
colors everywhere
as a colorblind, I sigh
the complexity is reaching unprecedented levels
and this is still a simulation
perhaps this will be the ultimate situation
it's not world war two
so there are no bolt actions
but there are drones and helicopters
and we started sprinting across the desert
as if we were in Iraq twenty years ago
and suddenly I am alone after everyone died
I was the medic, and I failed them
I try to go back
my character moves slow
I don't know who's friend or foe
shots nearby make everything blurry
explosions in the ground and the sky
and the more I played it, the more I really felt it
I don't want war
I don't ever want to be in a war
and if there is anything I could to stop war
I would have done it many times over

another glorious day
in room twelve oh six
managed to only get up at seventeen thirty
a new record I believe
I should, of course, rise early
and be productive
work on my business, maybe write
before this sickcation ends
it could be worse, worse, worse
I n e e e e e e e e e e d to be
g R a t E f U l
k I n D
g O  e A s Y
but time is running out
the time of tastes
the timing of markets
the time of culture
the interwar peacetime
the timing of my mood, energy
before degeneration kicks in
the ageing and patience
the slow decay of details
before it is all replaced
before the bottom line erases
me

brace brace
but this is not a plane
but my mind
and this place can be quite
unforgiving
as the doctor explains
if it's gonna be surgery or chemo
but even he's not sure
so there will be a conference
and more doctors will look at my case
and I feel a sort of race against time
and I wonder what my face is looking like
but I brace, I brace
two more weeks
on top of the other three
following the months from surgery
it's a chase for certainty
and I can't keep the pace
so I brace, brace
distract myself in cyberspace
as a catgirl, playing horror games
with friends, looking for just a little
grace.

its not easy to start a diet
when your life depends on it
and when the world might end
in just a few weeks
and what a waste that would be
all that extra fitness
covered in a blanket of jealousy
slowly eaten by the bugs
(which hate the lean meat)
with no one to see

I am from the generation
that first grew up with the digital
while our brains were soft
enough to believe religion
like those before
but I am old enough
to remember the analog
and to contrast the two
unlike those after
that were spared the promises
that seemed so real
and I miss those early days
before discovering
all the ways
I could be wrong
I miss the feel of the hot leather
from the black cars under the sun
and the keys to open them
and the round silvery future
just around the y2k advert
that would consume us
I miss the sunburnt beige plastic
on the CRTs, and the mechanical sounds
of information traveling
and each isolated technology
independent, sovereign
before being infected
by the wireless connection
of convenience
my gameboys, my discman, my mp3s
my brick of a phone, antenna-free
and the early days of mIRC,
hi5, live messenger, xfire, myspace,
connection, friendship, expression
each year a promise of christmas
each invention innocent
before we had to worry of all the ways
it could be used against us
and I believe those of us then
now hold some strange key
interlopers, maybe wise
no longer free
hard earned scars
beyond this current reality
we may have the best of both worlds
as the worst
dinosaurs glued to cartoon TV
as we are desperate
and left behind
don't forget us
please.

Beware the allure of war
you second-hand soldier
that enjoys its spectacle
from screens
where it all makes sense
no fog, just narrative
the threat predictable and
trainable
it seems obvious what to do
from the vantage point
of posterity
But for every new war
it was a new terror for the soldier
no two wars are alike
no preparation possible
no wisdom attainable
no perspective bearable
and as the fire-breathing drones of today
and the kamikaze drones
and the grenade dropping drones
and the jammer-resistant drones
and the ICBMs being used
and perhaps even tactical nukes
will seem rudimentary for the
spectators of tomorrow
you too will be so lucky
to experience brand new horrors

in exchange for 90 poems
you'll need three weeks of your life
and gain two kilos
that was not such a bad deal, I thought
the weeks I did not have to work
as I was on sick leave
the kilos will be lost soon
from chemotherapy
and the poems made the time
pass
by
faster
and feel less useless
and doomed
no higher purpose needed
than to distract you too

the human dream
balancing on the thin thread
of moloch atomic fire
fueled by the scarcity of evolution
it just couldn't have been
any other way
for the gift of progress
forged from competition
will never rest
whichever direction
it cascades.
No bravery or caution
or planning and intelligence
can control such force
unleashed by the very binding
of this universe
and to know this or not
makes absolutely no difference
or sense at all
and all the sacrifices made
and all the things lost and gained
to disappear instantly
with everyone
and no one in particular
to blame.

And the cancer may have spread
And World War 3 is trending on twitter
as long-range missiles from America
are allowed to hit Russia further ahead
and the chemo will be booked
or the RPLNDee
(Retroperitoneal lymph node dissection)
which has a nice round 5-10% chance
of preventing ******* forever
and Left 4 Dead was what nailed
Half-Life Episode three
this calls for a celebration
and it's not so much the *******
that I wanted
but to feel that weight on top
as we both embrace
and feel
and after the kisses
and my hand caressing the goosebumps on her thighs
and her squeezing and moaning
and the release
there is of course a brief lingering peace
and we talk until the time is up
and then the time is up
and I leave
and the rain starts
and then a pink blue sunset on the Öresund bridge
but not before I passed by Gasoline Grill
with some fries, please

adulthood is fighting for innocence
looking for it
rediscovering it
desperately holding on
longing for what was
before it was done
each day slowly forgetting
each day a step away
some lose it faster than others
some never look back
and the girl says all this
confidently facing the camera
pleading with the world
that she found a truth
worth sharing with you
but the truth is nothing
if you cannot reach it
or keep it
so now we both stare awkwardly
at the screen
not knowing what to do next
she presses the button
to stop recording
uploading
and I flush the toilet
wipe, wash my hands
and think about my adult life
and the innocence of taking
two hours
having a date
with nature's knife

today the orc
was caught in the field
the drone came flying
he couldn't outrun it
or hit it with the bag
the explosion made him fall
the multiple wounds visible
the overview drone zooms in
blood and fragments
and the last gasping breaths
before death
agonal breathing is the term
and even from the distance
one could see the eyes fade
and a gentle regret
as he became waste.

today the orc tried to hide
under water, on a small muddy stream
the drone drop seemed to miss
at first
but the fragment hit him
somewhere in the brain
and like a turtle on its shell
he lost control
and drowned on that river
no deeper than a meter.

today the orc heard the drop
on his trench, ran out
but it was too late
and half his face
was blown off
as he squirmed
blind, hugging his knees
a sitting fetal position
confused and bewildered
such ended his mission.

today the orc gave up
dead comrades all around
he lay against a dirt wall
held the rifle between his legs
end of barrel aimed at neck
confirmed the safety was off
and off he went to nowhere
nothing gained and nothing lost
a waste of time for us all.

today the orc hid on a puddle bank
lying very still, holding his breath
the drone above already locked-in
his heart must have raced
with adrenaline
like a sick game of hide and seek
but when the bomb dropped
on him
and he was split apart
between the gory as ****
the heart was fully exposed
beating normally, if a bit slowly
the wreckage of Man
from a rubble of flesh and meat
I thought, something must be wrong
with me
as I watched all this
on a subreddit
but not as wrong
as the orcs
providing this twenty first
century content
on my phone.

lifestyle routines
workouts and diets
parenting styles
eating this then that
the idealized climate
an endless conveyor belt
powered by algorithmic science
its all a trap
an evolutionary cul-de-sac
where dreams go to die
and death is born blind
dead ends served on a platter
to end thirst and hunger
perfection perfectly presented
for comparison to trigger action
and the illusion of unhappiness
with the present
so you may move up a ladder
and you wonder why you're unhappy
frustrated, with anger
a comparison to fiction
robbing you of your anchor
as you set sail when you can't
swim, dive, or even float down
stream.

there is a timeline
in which I'm a father
to a six year old
in this timeline
my grandmother doesn't annoy me
with grief and sorrow
every time we videocall

there is a timeline
in which you did not break my heart
several times
in front and behind the back
with the secrets spilled
in your message chats

there is a timeline
where we never met
where your smile did not infect
me so badly, and the promise
didn't flower fully
and I never got lost biking back
from your cul-de-sac

there is a timeline
in which I never came here
escaping recession fears
with a promise of opportunity
as the prime minister
gently invited us
to gently leave the country

there is a timeline
where I stayed in Spain
rooted, secured, in my domain
confident, arrogant, insane
at least, slightly more than now
an art in the simplicity
of someone who couldn't comprehend
when each branch was splitting
and a new reality
came.