If a gadget turns
you on, and I cannot
listen the voiceless
music, how would
we meet in parasynthesis?

A parakeet lifts the long
tail to climb on―
the grill to watch the
sweep of clouds, whistling
past, when the world
was mud-splattered.

Take my hand and hold
the queer. I was never me
in the maddening crowd.
I listen to only my body.