^X.After a century, the first colony
of bluebirds flew out of my mouth.

^IX.This morning, when I said my name
before the mirror, a sunflower broke

out of it. ^VIII. I have witnessed too many
crashing within this body, and I wonder

if I’ll one day develop immunity against
this violence. ^VII. The CT scan reveals

flowers sprouting from the base of my
ventricles. Perhaps this would account

for the nectar on my tongue. ^VI. In this
transterrestrial habitat, the wind runs

across my skin, brewing a kind of music
—forlorn, yet tender. ^V. The sun’s ray falls

on my cracked flesh & I transmute into
an hologram of grace. ^IV.Gravity becomes

fluid & the sky only rains crystalflake.
^III. Buried within my chest are strands of

synthesized miracles. ^II. Most times what
molds us can also catalyze our decay. Even

the genesis of a scar can be a lovely kiss.
^I. If I ever go missing, search for me among

the congregation of bluebirds; at the wake
of dusk when they retire into their nest.