grass forgetting green

i lay in the yard & the blades ask me,
"what is our name?" i break mirrors once a week.
count birds each day until i reach one hundred.
there has been a lack of ghost inventory-taking lately.
our estimates are now way off. there are so many more.
i lie to the grass & say, "you are all named louis." 
it is a specific burden to have to name yourself.
sometimes, i wish a green mouth would have come & said,
"you are this." the grass believes in violins.
the grass wants a lover & i am not willing or ready.
i tell the grass, "you should talk to the birds."
every blade sheds a tear. i say, "i understand."  

barbed wire hammock 

all afternoon i pretend to be sleeping.
a disciple of self-punishment, 
i invent new gods who tell me, "you are just
an acorn squash." my guts are every where
& they smell like bicycles. in a room
of sunglasses, i am just shielding my eyes
& hoping the throbbing will all go away. the trees bend
with my weight. i tell them "this is only 
for a few hours." the wires are comfortable.
not severing skin at all. yes, it's is not as bad as 
it could be. oh how i want to stop thinking like this when
somewhere there is a bed made of bones just for me.

button hole

throw me through the sweaters' blinking.
dynamite took the mountain's heart out 
& now she culls the roof tops with 
her long fingers. i have been stolen & lost.
stood in the archway & thought, "is this enough
to hold the two edges of the world together?"
winter is too cold & not nearly cold enough.
i want to be a statue. a cloud. the way 
her thumb & forefinger would work, slipping
a button into its burrow. we were all voles.
hid from the owls catastrophe eyes. we told stories
of belonging. of perfect fits. walnut & skeleton. 

you dreamed a radioactive end

standing in the sitting room like coat wracks
& just waiting for the shoes to drop. raining 
boots all day, we covered our heads & said
"it was only a matter of time." the peaches
grew arms & the grapes, wings. insect-like 
& looking for revenge. we thought we could out smart
whatever turmoil comes after a great barbeque. 
smoke. hair. steak knife. then the ground vibrated.
everyone escaped through a zipper. but now
it's all snakes underneath the bridge. finding 
your mouth where the shower dream should be. 
i told you we couldn't use too much. 

graveyard dirt

i go out with a trowel to reconile 
all of my fruit. the peaches that melted 
into handbags & then turned into swallows.
we used to walk here together & hold hands
amoung the hills & headstones. i picture
apricot trees growing on the necks of masoleums.
it is said just a handful can become a voice.
my grandmother who clapped her hands to stay warm.
the dogs who ran until they came apart as autumn leaves.
i used to want to raise the dead. now, i reach
into the jar to feel just a bit of underworld. in the soil 
i see a jaw bone. an eye lash. swelling afternoon.

flea market mink

i follow the stream to the land of humane killing.
let us not be hunters, today. let us wear 
the costume jewlery teeth & laugh. gun in mouth.
crayfish in mouth, i pray to the worn-again. to repetition.
this is not my fault. i did not find you. 
must & meat. dreaming of the face bones of your mammals. 
carnivorous god. two left heels. polka-dot punch bowl.
nothing good is created without a price. your bones
were carry to a slit in the throat of the afternoon.
let us just pretend we are dressing up for an armageddon.
i was not invited but i will arrive 
with you over my shoulders.

on the devil's pirate radio station

he talks about silver. bullet. tea sets.
a house catches fire & the sound eats a hole
through my satellite. i am trying to decorate
my bedroom with empty picture frames.
the devil & i have so much in common. i want
to sit on the tongue of his voice all night.
the devil doesn't believe in god. the devil eats
crunchy potato chips & listens to string quartets.
his confessional is full of broken bottles.
he speaks into the night as if he might own it.
i too am prone to over-consumption. there he is knocking 
or else i am just eating the door again.
 

stillness

i paint the fruit & plead with them to hold still.
there is a bee inside the heart of every apple.
they rock back & forth, swaying with sweet. 
caramels blinking from a frosted jar. 
the still life asks if it can borrow a quarter.
carrying change is a thing of the past. now,
i just pray to a demon for my candy. everything 
is rotting on the face of the moon. canned peas 
with a silver fork. my stil life has a beard.
it has mold & moss. it has a diagnosis. refuses
to be as still as i need. i hold a paint brush 
& a ray gun. i say "you have a choice to make."

limited edition 

it's almost over & the sun hasn't even
worn roller skates. i am calling the manager
to discuss dissapointment. sometimes i buy
enough food to last me until the heat death
of the universe. sit holding a spoon like
a shot gun. why is everything always going away?
i feel like i spend most of the day chasing 
a smell or touch to need. your hair. a basket
of overripe plums. why wasn't i promised more?
why didn't a god kneel down & say, "will have
everything you need." it would have been a lie.
i think i want to be lied to. tell me nothing vanishes.

concrete city

there is no such thing as the forest.
you told me you wrote your name inside
one of these nests of bones. the houses awaken 
& spit boys into the darkness. you said 
you made a fire here. said you took off your face
& ran headless from building to building.
all around, the trees try to sing without legs.
birds with human teeth chattering in the coming cold.
i ask to be encircled by water fountain.
grow a beak & follow a knot of frolickers 
into their dens. what i wanted was for you to tell me,
"i was always a good person." what a jupiter for me to want.