The beauty of the screams that lead to birth

Blue eyes handshake unless they are

beige walls. Rooms inside us grow

arms and legs. They nosedive into

each other. They decorate themselves

with cracked mirrors, graveyard wall-

papers, ground chandeliers, disco balls,

cacti, of course, and miniature arm-

chairs. Soon you will mistake them

with crooked smile paintings. In them

you will see the sun. He looks nothing

like them. It is close to loneliness,

but not too close, but close enough

to open like a cave mouth and be teethed,

obviously, with wisdom, among other

things. I can hear the screams from here.

I see the shiny head. They collide clearly

like two planets. The orbit was not fire

enough. I see a belly button. It’s a boy.