In this way, we became our mothers, / anticipating future from structure, / believing in the latest breakthrough revelation / concerning what happens to our bodies / and our fate.

Plates of biocrust crumble and fill the cracks of the tile, more maggots dribbling from every orifice: my nose, my ears, a few even wiggling out from behind my eyes.

Biomedicine is a shameless Cartesian purgatory committed to betraying Black bodies the way it betrayed my mother.

How many stars named after black kids, or light-years until / the next supernova? I want him to know what room America has left / for black love, black boys, black families. Maybe. Hopefully.

It turned out that Jared, the tragic youngster we were picking up, died in the ocean. He was sailing on the Atlantic when a storm flipped his boat and sent the crew’s bodies up the Florida coast, slashed and bloodless. By this I came to assume that he loved whales, too.

What I knew was that if and when I became non-sighted, I wanted to encounter and understand braille as a literary rubato as opposed to a lack.