In Existence

I, too, wish to carry a bullet for the ducks flying through snow. I, too, want to live under neon lights— blue light still my closest friend. I, too, take cold showers until my hands stop shaking, snapping red like nerves. I, too, clasp my hands after killing a mosquito, even if blood and genes mean nothing. I, too, walk through mist, loving the snails that move slow like me. I, too, carry an apple in my throat. If the mic drips with honey, I’ll recline and listen in silence. Do we truly see eye to eye, or merely pretend to align? A prayer-like wind passed through me. If only time can solve this, how could I not I, too, want to type without thinking. If I press the TAB key, maybe summer and fall will appear. I, too, bury my face in my frontal lobe, whispering “today, for sure,” until it stops being a lie. I, too, wanted cherry blossoms. Who swept the petals away before I arrived? I almost asked aloud— but there was no one to answer.