april

 as they greet the next epoch, what are they?

as if the last twenty years went undecided, not sure if it's a boy or a girl. so many love songs written by perverts. and communists. and science. the movies of yore. religion is for boys and the earth is for girls. 

we bleed from our parts. you don't. that matters. 

costa rica, by virtue of it's name alone, is gay. sexuality here is vice, bees and birds, fish. no señalaré nunca a imbéciles. no es lo mío. 

tomorrow is primero, del mes de mi chirón, mi guerrero herido, mi sanador, en aries. i go between languages like a woman, adult human female, using languages invented by catholicism and protestants. ritualists and rain. on a natural planet, with cicadas blasting past present between sunsets and sunrises. today i cleaned the piedra del indio, la roca bruja, of a city full of homo and cis sexuality. in an outdoor kitchen designed by an aquarian. there's a tree at the center, a trunk of ages, lit by lightbulbs that suck darkness but irradiate little. at the center of the trunk is a shelf with a lamp that looks a lot like covid.

tomorrow is day of fools.

a lemon grows at the root of the trunk in the kitchen.