Eleven years ago I am a vulture
picking at a rabbit on the side of the road.
I am just doing what I must to stay alive,
and the casual observer passes by
to observe, rapt, disgusted but unable
to look away. Then a wind blows and I
am Victor in the motel hallway, knees
enclosed in my elbows, head tipped back
against the wall and eyes on the ceiling
in dismay. Then the train hits the tracks
and I am cracked and reassembled
in the present day, carrying all these
ways that we’ve been gay. Feeling our
burns of each degree, how we are
learning family.

Welcome to the month that you hear everyone stories, then the people who usually just make fun of them say how much they care.
People like me suffer every day, but usually, no one cares.
Please don’t tell me to pick to be happy.
I didn’t choose to be sad.
I chose to live, which the hardest of them all.
Maybe dying would be more comfortable, but I won’t give up to be another static.
I’m not a number that will be seen in the news, and people who hated me will make a post about how much they loved me.
My pain isn't a way for others to make money.
Happy national  awareness time.
I hear you
I’m with you
Don’t fly yet.
There is still come.
I love you all.

The show is poetry in motion
even on the black canvas of the night
it remains a live showdown the stars
one that's hardly dark in the dark.

The fireflies fly through
highlighting in silver lines
that could barely shed new light
amid the spectator stars
eye on upon it from the far.

The sea in black in the night
billows with full of ink
only to wish to ink a beauty spot
above its forehead on a shining Moon-dew.

Looking down on it from the stars
the sea in black is bedewed with moonlight.
It’s not that there is no red no purple no colour
it's the garden of every morning's new sun
in bloom in the shady bud of the night.

Assume the employee smiles as you
wait in line for a sanitized shopping cart.
Assume she has slight imperfections
in her front teeth as you do.
Tiny chips from hard candy mishaps
back in the early 2000s
that you choose to notice while
you examine your mouth in the mirror.
Assume that they're eyes are telling the truth--
they didn't wake up with a fever this morning,
and neither did the lady or her four kids behind you.
Assume by their relaxed body language
that we're all still safe from something we can't see.
Assume that since your own smile is naked,
somehow, you'll get out of this public place untouched.
It feels like you do. You hope, anyway.
Assume that the governor knows what's best when he says
"It is suggested that all citizens wear facemasks,
regardless if they're showing symptoms."
You put the peanut butter in the cupboard
and the paper plates on the counter.
You wash your hands for twenty seconds,
singing "Happy Birthday" twice, just like they said.
You touch your face because you assume you're clean.
Assuming your own risk, you pick up your phone and
in a rigid, robotic fashion, your search begins.
Assume you will see "out of stock" and "due to high demand,"
and assume that you will come up empty-handed, again.
You find her though,
a young girl who has made hundreds face masks to sell
on her online shop.
She asks you to select your pattern,
and as I scan my choices,
I imagine what would accompany my feverish face the best.
"Cats," I say to her through a series of clicks.
"Cats, and I think, I'll take the one with roses too."