It was wrong of me to cry. A good cry. Unwanted.
Wanted to make the fan dust dance around the ceiling nooks.
Instead they fell at my feet. The neighbors all had a laugh
about flowered dresses and messy hair buns. I couldn’t drink
the whole whiskey bottle so their youngest son did.
On the news it was all plasti-coated. Like we were aliens.
Thinking we didn’t have neon night vision. At some point
that night, I stopped existing.
It was wrong of me to wear red stockings during the war.
3.20.2008
Mind Baby's Guitar
I bury live shrimp in scalding sand
we’re all at war with something
& how do you love anything
when it only lasts seconds before
a bomb blasts it. Saying you can’t sleep
through the noise is a lie & imagine
the inverse being true— there’s a black speck
in my eye that only gets larger when you gaze past
me to search for above-ground transit
terminals & I want to think the end of everything
will be a relief I’m so guilty, so fucking guilty.
A man stands on my street corner selling
hats when it’s sixty out some of them
block the sun completely,
he tastes our fear he tastes metal. You & I
are going to die every channel speaks by eleven
I don’t flip past the idea. Since then I’ve stopped
eating animals, joined the city public interest
group but don’t solicit, throw pamphlets
down sewer grates on the way to my minimum
wage job but even the water stops swishing
them around oh I need to hear a song again–
how about the one you played on my solo string
you said I’d never be sorry.
we’re all at war with something
& how do you love anything
when it only lasts seconds before
a bomb blasts it. Saying you can’t sleep
through the noise is a lie & imagine
the inverse being true— there’s a black speck
in my eye that only gets larger when you gaze past
me to search for above-ground transit
terminals & I want to think the end of everything
will be a relief I’m so guilty, so fucking guilty.
A man stands on my street corner selling
hats when it’s sixty out some of them
block the sun completely,
he tastes our fear he tastes metal. You & I
are going to die every channel speaks by eleven
I don’t flip past the idea. Since then I’ve stopped
eating animals, joined the city public interest
group but don’t solicit, throw pamphlets
down sewer grates on the way to my minimum
wage job but even the water stops swishing
them around oh I need to hear a song again–
how about the one you played on my solo string
you said I’d never be sorry.
I Speak to You Because I Don't Know You
Too much lately you’ve been inside
how could the wind forget you have been
misspent and in the bodega tonight I forgot
the paper towels, forgot to clean up the spilt coffee
on the kitchen floor and stepping in it, the cold between
my toes felt nothing like slicing them with kitchen sheers—
and if I wanted to boil it up again I’d have stuck
my whole damn foot in the microwave,
400 plus watts and prayed it would explode.
I, like you, are impermeable— gemstone statuettes
but never the antique. Too much lately you’ve been
speaking in your complicated verse. I’ve provoked
in you by lines of smoke, pass through sunlight,
miss the words that might have held everything
together. You’ve been talking about robbing the seven
-eleven but if you really meant robbing me I’d believe you.
My necklace is choking me and if my hip bone
smashes into this counter one more time I think I might like it.
how could the wind forget you have been
misspent and in the bodega tonight I forgot
the paper towels, forgot to clean up the spilt coffee
on the kitchen floor and stepping in it, the cold between
my toes felt nothing like slicing them with kitchen sheers—
and if I wanted to boil it up again I’d have stuck
my whole damn foot in the microwave,
400 plus watts and prayed it would explode.
I, like you, are impermeable— gemstone statuettes
but never the antique. Too much lately you’ve been
speaking in your complicated verse. I’ve provoked
in you by lines of smoke, pass through sunlight,
miss the words that might have held everything
together. You’ve been talking about robbing the seven
-eleven but if you really meant robbing me I’d believe you.
My necklace is choking me and if my hip bone
smashes into this counter one more time I think I might like it.
Fallin at 5:17 for Kaitlin*
i
:17
a radio because snow is noiseless
choosing to shuffle stations because in a way,
tuning buttons symbolizes defiance.
Heavy eyes in a heavy snow,
you’re in a car that might as well
be without wheels.
2.5 : 8.5
unidentifiable object coming towards you-
not traffic or snowballs. your hand’s not guiding the wheel.
More plowing goes on miles away, the clock
radio blinks and the you sing- the sound of vocals
without tunes and your response isn’t
to slow down.
: 5
a telephone pole flattens the roof and me,
trapped five hundred miles southeast.
a car passes you but won’t stop to help.
your head in the white snow,
a bright crimson outline-
fallen without meaning into glass,
which glistens still on the only visible
concrete, made by skidded tire marks.
ii
: 17 Poison
Pete introduced me to you
as his loser cousin who chose to eat a box of crayons
in second grade, to avoid getting caught stealing them-
and you told him you once stacked ice cubes
and made a car out of them, dyed it red with food coloring.
Pete called you weird because that had nothing
to do with making a real decision.
2.5 : 8.5 Alcohol
At the party you called me,
silliness in your voice and I was only
jealous I wasn’t there
so I hung up the phone.
: 5 Newspaper
They wrote that you couldn’t have predicted this.
Of course at some point
we all tamper with poison, but it shouldn’t kill us.
Taught myself to look consequence in the eye
long before it becomes irreversible.
:17
a radio because snow is noiseless
choosing to shuffle stations because in a way,
tuning buttons symbolizes defiance.
Heavy eyes in a heavy snow,
you’re in a car that might as well
be without wheels.
2.5 : 8.5
unidentifiable object coming towards you-
not traffic or snowballs. your hand’s not guiding the wheel.
More plowing goes on miles away, the clock
radio blinks and the you sing- the sound of vocals
without tunes and your response isn’t
to slow down.
: 5
a telephone pole flattens the roof and me,
trapped five hundred miles southeast.
a car passes you but won’t stop to help.
your head in the white snow,
a bright crimson outline-
fallen without meaning into glass,
which glistens still on the only visible
concrete, made by skidded tire marks.
ii
: 17 Poison
Pete introduced me to you
as his loser cousin who chose to eat a box of crayons
in second grade, to avoid getting caught stealing them-
and you told him you once stacked ice cubes
and made a car out of them, dyed it red with food coloring.
Pete called you weird because that had nothing
to do with making a real decision.
2.5 : 8.5 Alcohol
At the party you called me,
silliness in your voice and I was only
jealous I wasn’t there
so I hung up the phone.
: 5 Newspaper
They wrote that you couldn’t have predicted this.
Of course at some point
we all tamper with poison, but it shouldn’t kill us.
Taught myself to look consequence in the eye
long before it becomes irreversible.
Don't Play Yourself, Call Me Later
A woman once told me she liked my rhyme
Accomplished hands hold hips back to look
Apparition with a wine glass
Autumn's head wears a red dress
Baby, black love don't break quick
Before I was alive, I was my own continent
Believe everything.
Behind every line there's no story
Born-again after sex, I like to stop breathing.
Caroline Kennedy's got nothing on me.
Chemistry (inside coffee)
Church conspiracies melt into chrome
Everything has sex with itself, only differently.
Everyone's bipolar.
I handed you a passport
I can piece ground coffee back together
I'll believe in God for a second in case it helps.
Kneel on skeletons before me.
Knick-knack, let me not end up a cliche.
Like a clothesline cuts slices into the sky,
Like a sponge that still drips without water,
Like a star about to nova,
Like the grass that could not compel us to leave,
Lisa licks water lillies and tells me it's a poem.
Medulla oblongata (unstitched)
Miracle Mamma
My brain operates in a blood-bath
Network Static--
Nice caressing for someone with no fingertips.
Pale faces fold
Purple thread wraps around his button
See-thru like the metal that holds together rosary beads,
Spiced onions (Big Blue)
Stephanie wants to be Googled and found.
Stop invading me!
Ted Berrigan says to invent life (after dreams)>br> The scalpel that cut the Swastika
What split wasn't the fault line,
When I blew up the White House, nobody ran
Who the fuck gets married on a Sunday during football season?
You say the impulse is instant.
Accomplished hands hold hips back to look
Apparition with a wine glass
Autumn's head wears a red dress
Baby, black love don't break quick
Before I was alive, I was my own continent
Believe everything.
Behind every line there's no story
Born-again after sex, I like to stop breathing.
Caroline Kennedy's got nothing on me.
Chemistry (inside coffee)
Church conspiracies melt into chrome
Everything has sex with itself, only differently.
Everyone's bipolar.
I handed you a passport
I can piece ground coffee back together
I'll believe in God for a second in case it helps.
Kneel on skeletons before me.
Knick-knack, let me not end up a cliche.
Like a clothesline cuts slices into the sky,
Like a sponge that still drips without water,
Like a star about to nova,
Like the grass that could not compel us to leave,
Lisa licks water lillies and tells me it's a poem.
Medulla oblongata (unstitched)
Miracle Mamma
My brain operates in a blood-bath
Network Static--
Nice caressing for someone with no fingertips.
Pale faces fold
Purple thread wraps around his button
See-thru like the metal that holds together rosary beads,
Spiced onions (Big Blue)
Stephanie wants to be Googled and found.
Stop invading me!
Ted Berrigan says to invent life (after dreams)>br> The scalpel that cut the Swastika
What split wasn't the fault line,
When I blew up the White House, nobody ran
Who the fuck gets married on a Sunday during football season?
You say the impulse is instant.
Melding Maiden
Book One:
He skins the coating from his scalp trying
to escape. Bars grow like algae perennials. He salivates and they turn from copper to gold while
he misses the unknown.
Book Two:
Continuous sockets of failed generations. His shoelaces weave throug
distilled air of the night, become suspended by emptiness en grande jatté. Large bowl baby. One
leg leans against the vault of ambition, arms gravitate towards false hope upside-down.
{BOOKMARK}
charred intrusion she rests her fingertips on his fat knees,
her lower body mid-prance. He dreams it detachable.
*MASTER PLAN*
Breed newfound slavery. Breed her to become him. Let him become tailored to her parts.
Pointelle toes(A), to feed off the waves of her neurotic vocals preaching opera that preach
chain born to serve you with my tounge (B). While undressing, her tibula (C) expands and he
jumps to erase it. Perfection-only allowed for his full-frontal (D) tracing paper princess.
sacrifiées femme à l'extrémité
Noted also: sacrificed woman at the end
de son travail brut, disséqué et morts. gravé en couleurs
of her gross labour, dissected and dead. engraved in colour
seulement quand elle prie pour lui
only when she's begging for it.
Book Three:
Signature of later, invented costume only art can save. Anisrés, bathing place. Lock no key
ligaments hanging from a broken chandelier.
He skins the coating from his scalp trying
to escape. Bars grow like algae perennials. He salivates and they turn from copper to gold while
he misses the unknown.
Book Two:
Continuous sockets of failed generations. His shoelaces weave throug
distilled air of the night, become suspended by emptiness en grande jatté. Large bowl baby. One
leg leans against the vault of ambition, arms gravitate towards false hope upside-down.
{BOOKMARK}
charred intrusion she rests her fingertips on his fat knees,
her lower body mid-prance. He dreams it detachable.
*MASTER PLAN*
Breed newfound slavery. Breed her to become him. Let him become tailored to her parts.
Pointelle toes(A), to feed off the waves of her neurotic vocals preaching opera that preach
chain born to serve you with my tounge (B). While undressing, her tibula (C) expands and he
jumps to erase it. Perfection-only allowed for his full-frontal (D) tracing paper princess.
sacrifiées femme à l'extrémité
Noted also: sacrificed woman at the end
de son travail brut, disséqué et morts. gravé en couleurs
of her gross labour, dissected and dead. engraved in colour
seulement quand elle prie pour lui
only when she's begging for it.
Book Three:
Signature of later, invented costume only art can save. Anisrés, bathing place. Lock no key
ligaments hanging from a broken chandelier.
On Street Corners At 4am
I force you to kneel on skeletons before me. Wrestle your will to love, take me down tendon by tendon crack crack. Bite my forehead and brush my hair back all at once. Somewhere it is snowing. Here, just frizzy. I don’t love you, but I want you and perhaps that translates into I’ll want to love you. The concrete vibrates;
I kick at your patella but you don’t break in two. Unwelcome rhythms of an unnatural disaster. Somewhere far away is what’s wanted: the vocal chords of a medical examiner weaving together to formulate a cause. Kink kink, bones disengage like our bodies in the cold.
I kick at your patella but you don’t break in two. Unwelcome rhythms of an unnatural disaster. Somewhere far away is what’s wanted: the vocal chords of a medical examiner weaving together to formulate a cause. Kink kink, bones disengage like our bodies in the cold.
Garden in Places Unknown
A broken mirror lied on the ground the first time I bought him a white rose, my favourite kind.
He hung it on the cork board, hugged me upside down. The sky over the ice cream
stand held a lake of water lilies and mint chocolate chips covered both our noses.
I string garlands of lilacs across pavement to lead him back. He called me once his caretaker,
protected by a viper and with a pocket of thorns I seduce salty perfume—lost
ligaments. My language is dead, I must extend bunches of midnight. Purple between
his teeth, for he has eaten my offer and forgotten we were ever human.
Walking back from the lakefront he picked me, a dandelion. Said blow the seeds into my eyes,
aware I’m incapable of breathing I love you in English. Only in Flower and joy while I
destroy some part of his ego, allergic to pollen. He laid me in vanilla, flooded me with
muddy water so I could not re-bloom.
He hung it on the cork board, hugged me upside down. The sky over the ice cream
stand held a lake of water lilies and mint chocolate chips covered both our noses.
I string garlands of lilacs across pavement to lead him back. He called me once his caretaker,
protected by a viper and with a pocket of thorns I seduce salty perfume—lost
ligaments. My language is dead, I must extend bunches of midnight. Purple between
his teeth, for he has eaten my offer and forgotten we were ever human.
Walking back from the lakefront he picked me, a dandelion. Said blow the seeds into my eyes,
aware I’m incapable of breathing I love you in English. Only in Flower and joy while I
destroy some part of his ego, allergic to pollen. He laid me in vanilla, flooded me with
muddy water so I could not re-bloom.
New Jersey
I’ve been meaning to type you
how the pavement’s littered blue
like a hammer-hit thumbnail or a mouth
that’s about to chomp on a raspberry blow pop,
the burnt horizon of the city.
I remember the clumsy coffee
cup in my hands
and that I still stumble through street traffic,
stumble through crowds of people as they toss
for the garbage can and miss—
but clunks to the ground
have always amused me:
without you here I’m corrupted and lonely
and I can’t remember the last time
I kept someone as tight as Tupperware
and wasn’t sorry.
I watched this couple share a lollipop
outside the Metro-North, strawberry the wrapper
said, and shoving it into each other’s mouths
the stick could have disappeared
entirely and I bet they wouldn’t have noticed.
I remember burning my tongue
and questioning must this always happen
and I can’t elaborate on the feeling except
that it was quick— like the way that holy ghost
I don’t believe in passes through a room:
without you here I suppose I should be discreet
but I’m still tired of semi-colons for space,
desire for lack of commas,
and I’ve been meaning to type
about the tight-rope, how concepts like love
make me choke.
how the pavement’s littered blue
like a hammer-hit thumbnail or a mouth
that’s about to chomp on a raspberry blow pop,
the burnt horizon of the city.
I remember the clumsy coffee
cup in my hands
and that I still stumble through street traffic,
stumble through crowds of people as they toss
for the garbage can and miss—
but clunks to the ground
have always amused me:
without you here I’m corrupted and lonely
and I can’t remember the last time
I kept someone as tight as Tupperware
and wasn’t sorry.
I watched this couple share a lollipop
outside the Metro-North, strawberry the wrapper
said, and shoving it into each other’s mouths
the stick could have disappeared
entirely and I bet they wouldn’t have noticed.
I remember burning my tongue
and questioning must this always happen
and I can’t elaborate on the feeling except
that it was quick— like the way that holy ghost
I don’t believe in passes through a room:
without you here I suppose I should be discreet
but I’m still tired of semi-colons for space,
desire for lack of commas,
and I’ve been meaning to type
about the tight-rope, how concepts like love
make me choke.
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