temporary 

1. 
i live inside
an origami crane--
wings pulsing-- 
i don't want
to hang pictures on
the walls because
the next time
it rains the
paper will go limp
& the ceiling
leak heaven
2.
the position of
the clouds-- playing
tag with each other--
out of breath
i run to try &
catch one-- my
brother was a cloud 
3.
the gaping 
moon
4.
whose scars are
temporary?
mine printed 
like hieroglyphics--
the language
of pictures--
the interim of
words--
5. 
this morning 
i wrapped myself
in three blankets 
& still refused
to accept
that we were here
in the thick of
winter 
6.
i am always
so naive to believe
these augusts 
will  be eternal
7.
the clouds who 
burst
into butterflies 
8.
my brother who
bursts into butterflies
on the other end 
of the phone call
9.
i build a home 
in his mouth
shaped like
the waning moon
10.
my bones to steel
in the night air--
open the windows
& let out
the heat-- 
11.
mistrust 
the carpet-- 
folded paper
foot print--
12.
the snow will melt
13.
the rain will freeze
14.
i will again 
be mistaken
by god for
a statue as i
un-tomb myself 
in impermanence--
15.
my address
i ask you to send
postcards to--
i pretend that 
this dorm room
is somehow
flooded with blood--
16.
my blood
17.
this list
18.
how far does my
list poem take you?
19.
the ache of
my spine becoming
your staircase--
20.
the ache of
remembering the euphoria
of skinned knees
& the cool dusk
of autumn
21.
i am 21 years old
somehow &
my brother is 
18 & we will
soon
enough be older still
& we will soon enough
again be sitting
in my green volvo 
& briefly 
stumbling-- headlights
wide-- into
the clouded
sky-- 
21.
when we're done 
talking about why
we're depressed he'll
move on to
explaining the intricacies 
of germany's
involvement in
world war 1
& the clouds will
chase us
back to noble 
street--
we love history
& books because 
for a little bit
we can hold onto
something-- 
21.
the treaty of Versailles
is being sign
on a wooden bench in
the back yard--
joyce again writes
Ulysses &
vonnegut's promise
of so it goes
so it goes 
so it goes
echoes in these
rear view mirrors--
21. 
the stair case is made of
books & the words
of half-dead poets
21.
the rain comes
or was it snow?
21. 
the clouds catch up
to us--
bleed
our pages
white 
1.
oh fold yourself
tightly
it is in fact winter