inbox

increase pixels per inch.
let us pretend we’re digital.
do you want to zoom in on the flaws?
but there’s a limit to the magnification
before pixels define the boundaries
of dreams scraped across delusions.

there are no real roots for b²-4ac.
let x be 0 to find the intercept
where the axis of strict boredom
meets the “why” of curiosity,
behind bars of green grids
and star-crossed lovers resisting gravity,
those that you can erase with a miracle.

delete all messages marked as spam.
let beauty be limitless
and unshakeable foundation be the base
for the steady blush brushed onto canvas,
your face an inbox receiving imaginary spam mail,
classifying the trashy and archive-worthy,
a study in perfection.