the men I know decorate their lives with women.
an elegant vase hitting the right curves in the corner,
a useful fan that spins and cools things down when you plug it into the right outlet,
a colorful carpet, worth the weekly upkeep,
a mirror that is okay to break but only if you are upset or drunk.
they are careful designers, tailoring the space to suit their preferences, their convenience.
the men I know assume women will stay where they are placed simply because they look beautiful there.
they are shocked when the wallpaper begins speaking in tongues,
when the photographs they framed begin reading their lips,
disillusioned when the seeds they planted in tiny aesthetic jars don’t grow or grow too much.
they are angry that a broken mirror will still show them their reflection.
the men I know decorate their lives with women,
bask stubbornly in the principle of their delusion,
and will watch, dumbfounded, as the women they positioned just so, realize they make up the world.
PLUTO BLOOMING 