Words and music by Briyan Frederick
© Brian F Baker | Published by Blind Mime Music, ASCAP
Briyan: tapegerms, sunoai
All My Designs #9
All my designs are on you.
No, not on you — inside you,
like a sideways blueprint folded into the meat
of a sandwich dream.
You, my dear,
are the hallway where I hung upside-down chandeliers
made of speculative butter.
I embroidered your name on an invisible hat
and gave it to a pelican in a business suit
who only speaks in backwards Gregorian algorithms.
All my designs are on you,
like freckles drawn in morse code,
like maps to Atlantis tattooed in lemon juice
on the underside of your furniture.
You are the project.
You are the post-it note I stuck to Jupiter’s moon
with intentions too fragile for gravity.
I coded a love letter in the genome of a flea.
I taught ants to whisper my feelings to your radiator.
I replaced your doorknob with a thought.
All my designs are on you —
blueprints of unspoken casseroles,
schematics for time-traveling spoons,
a 17-point plan to rearrange your shadow
into a question mark at 4:23 a.m.
You are the spreadsheet
I never dared to sort.
The spreadsheet laughed.
The columns revolted.
The cells merged and danced a waltz
called “Certainty Is a Myth Made of Cheese.”
All my designs are on you,
in quantum fonts and paradox ink.
Some are in braille
only readable by hummingbirds mid-sneeze.
I tried to delete them.
The delete key filed a restraining order.
Now I dream in umlauts.
My calendar screams your name
every third Tuesday,
but only if it rains sideways.
All my designs are on you.
And on the otter.
And on the soup.
But mostly,
on you.
