![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/609eb3c9b0ed9f001e1e5312.jpg)
My grey matter twists, reforms.
New neural connections, synapses firing an absurdist dreamscape.
My hands are a poem, pink and bruised.
Making, pleasuring, comforting, reading.
Muscle memorials of past letters, emails, essays, stories.
Reaching for light: my laptop’s pulsing pixels.
A white text document blinds me.
Isolated from the outside, I boil a kettle of water to steep a pot of earl grey.
I coat pink gloss on my drying, chapped lips.
Recovering outdated femininity™️, now a recognized computer virus:
created to hack half the population, and leave them hurting.
A red squirrel runs across the electrical line,
it’s mouth stuffed with apple blossoms.
I think about dying my hair turquoise, but am too shy to be stared at.
I continue writing what I see, collecting vibrant words
in notebooks, organized by topic:
Observations of rabbits running on pavement,
Smells of flowering trees,
An overview of Toronto’s steam buns.
I relearn being a good student, with a corresponding nocturnal habit
and I stay up until the birds chirp good morning, and pale blue sunrise
highlights the tree line and neighboring roofs.
After a week of rain, my lover and I walk to the water’s edge.
We point out flaming tulips, purple tree blossoms.
A dark caterpillar, smaller than a thumbtack.
Four yellow baby geese climb up the waters bank,
Pulling grass and spiky fronds with their bills.
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