i am // the reflection from my laptop’s dimmed screen // white paper with black ink, invisible smoke holding the pen like
a ouija board from the other side. // i am a room with the sign sorry. the lights are broken inside. you know, like a box //
schrodinger’s box // the trolley dilemma in which the lever
is my first love’s hand, the one i had let go of five years ago.

i am // a dream in a portrait in a mural in a cathedral but my tongue is a star-burnt rock // the floor of my room is made
of letters carved in limestone tablets, one of them reads
father, i’m sorry. my first love is a girl but God she is beautiful and i don’t think i can ever be forgiven as long as i love her //
a fountain pen erupts between two hands // oil-drenched.

i am // an acrostic poem that spells out someone else’s
name. // the air is heavy inside the box // skinner’s box. someone is rubbing their palms together in my room but
i can’t see through the dark // my greatest fear is an asteroid hitting earth and not being there to see it. // round glass
shatters around the word yes on the board. yes. yes. yes. yes.