The Day Before

—

The digital world doesn’t dream of skeletons

It cannot hold space for my awe and woe,

which responds to mothers becoming monsters

and fathers turned faded somethings with

nightly reminders of what the cocks and hounds

do not know.

—

Some stories are best left untold, as if undone

harm can be cut from the placenta of a new-born

reality free from identities that are all the bloom

of victimhood, whose pollen is collected by

genetically modified bees.

—

Hang from the tree next to the hive the version

of myself that can feel nothing but sorry for his

reflection. In the moonlight of morning, data

will be released from my system, and my soul

will finally flee the prison of the motherboard.