i think you're
infinity, a decimal, pandemic
you live, love (yourself), in a glass house
with your mind painting the windows
like blackout curtains, foggy as they are
in denial of your own
existence, who are you, grinning there as if
the world were made of joy and not
epidemic, of course now i can see
your mask and its seams, the crack down the center
black piano key keys for hair and
guitar strings for eyelashes, what are you,
strange creature undiscovered? scintillating beast,
person, personne, why do you move
like a cat, with feline dexterity, yet seem to be
falling from this bridge, no cords, no net,
and unable to land
on your feet?