in outerspace this morning sat a bird on my headboard
twittering in a language they call love.
(binya, if love were an act, what would it look like?)
suppose love were a verb that does, and outerspace a place
would you get into this steel pipe and slide with me?
(i have a confession to make):
if i touch the plunger to brew coffee
lift this phone to text and call
sit on this chair to fake work
stay awake to not dream
think i aint thinking of you when i am
everything leads me to you.
So, please tell me one thing:
can i love you out of this?
i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).