Alteration

Like how the salmon is sliced up, in fillet, and put on a pan Fried Baked Steamed. Under the chef’s watch for exactly seven minutes before flip.

Like how the washed-out frog is cut off By those sloppy rookie scientists. Under the surveilling microscopic.

Like how the back of a 14 year-old girl is carved with a shape of some white pain that might have been buried, manifested into a keloid. Blood dripping from the scar tattooist’s gloves.

Like how my belly button has a hole above it, sanitized when pining through, never connected to my mother’s womb. I might have been born from it.

Like how some of our existence is artificial.

But also, like how the song in your playlist played out loud and your lips moved in beats that forever planted a seed in my head of your eyes’ colors. Like the night when the smokes held in the cold voices And the cold voices warmed us up in the black cloak covering the stools I was sitting on.

Like the dance floor, the skyscrapers, intertwined together – like foamy celestials decoding floating unanswered screams echoing close.

My ears are bleeding, pink, pink like pink lemonade or cherry blossom in the spring Or pink of the skin tissues, inside out, unclothed. And I will cry So farinto a secluded house.