there is nothing separating us but a few inches of cold metal, through which his questions stream like water through a sieve.

he never smiles, only glares at the camera
like he’s looking right into your soul,
and wanting you.

there is no liquid like grief—
the moon pulls it all,

and my body responds,
begins to bleed.

Cheeks wet with tears, I croak—Jessica, you are the biggest fucking cunt in Somerville.
She giggles like a female alien, inhales serenely, and says Thank you.

I put on my suit every day for work.
It takes three hours.

The stars have no proof / of life but smolder regardless, maggots / feasting on the sky’s vast corpse, and like them / you were science before you were fiction.