i haven't slept in a couple of days so i've been seeing constellations in every face a vicious, viscous quietness creeping into every hollow space. celestial bodies collide in my veins: hemoglobin and mangoes and a chest gently torn open by the gravity that pulls me through. i've climbed trees on planets i've never been to, dined on cosmic lychee and other starry fruits. i met an extraterrestrial the last time i looked at my reflection, but my eyes carry jupiter in times of abjection—i don't believe i'll see her again so i'll ignore my pretty mouth, trace the crop circles on my palms instead. kubla khan built a pleasure dome from sound while i supped on the sun, we hung around and drank honey from a violin while jesus christ and shakyamuni sang 'kashmir' by led zeppelin. i lived outside the walls of clocks, and when i inhaled time i choked (the anthropic principle is kind of a joke). finally, i fell asleep when we all coalesced with the andromeda galaxy because the universe is a dreamscape of human anatomy.