It’s not like the sky’s not
enough. I see it out the window.
Blizzard blank. Pines trembling.
They might disappear. Which is
we might disappearing. What
living on planet here is like.
The popularity of science fiction.
All those photos without
our clothes on. Nothing in
the way between our skin.
A bowl of soup for breakfast,
smaller than a dinner portion.
We’re just getting started.
We have this myth the mail
will get through regardless.
If shipping a human heart
use wet ice and private couriers.
Soon drones. Some of us
waiting on slabs with holes
in our chest. Some of us sitting
in our basement, all these
hearts passing by overhead.
