architect

in a galaxy of teeth 
we live like gods.
the stars gather to ask us
for our guidance.
writing in the dust,
we tell them to keep going.
eat the reddest fruit
& lick our fingers clean.
when i plan where a system will grow
i consider only the sounds
those animals will make.
sometimes an animal is 
a dead river. other times
an animal is someone who wants
more than the sky can give them.
i am an animal.
sometimes, i wish i could
give myself rain.
other days i am grateful
to be someone who does the giving.
a particularly needy star
comes to plead for
a sister. i give it to her.
oh to have two suns to believe in.
the brief lives of exoskeletal creatures.
i have a jar of millipedes that
i consult when i need to talk
about legs. going somewhere is the illusion.
i tell the star how & when to turn.
pillows are all full of wings.
taking a single piece of thread
& sewing each galaxy to the next.
imagining trapeze artists
making their way into a different breathing.
sometimes i am tired & i think
"what if i stopped?" the stars would
come to shake me. would plead
& plead. no, there is no going back
to before i had hands. when i was
just a fist imagining rooves 
for bison to live beneath.
a trap door telling jokes.
an attic full of photographs.
i take a handful of dust & 
set to work. the universe wears
only dresses. i put lace on the hem.
the universe tells me with her mouth
open, the gifter of teeth,
"make me a world where everyone 
is not afraid." 

pegasus 

pegasus, you too know what it means
to be fathered. we would
put leashes on trees
& ask them to be horses. 
it never worked.
built a fence of pencils.
the gods emptied their golden chalices
on our heads & laughed. as children
we didn't have enough air.
resorted to breathing through straws.
smoke came & then fire.
sometimes our shoes would fill
with blood & so we'd rinse them
using the garden hose.
underneath the evergreen 
we found medusa's head. a basket
for pine cones. shrugged & wondered
how she might have died. 
her snakes shed, 
becoming thicket-dwellers. 
this is when we first saw you.
trying desperately to fly away,
running & jumping then crashing
into the dirt. sprinting alongside you,
we said, "you are so close,
you are so close." you were not close.
not at all. you asked to see
the chimera & we looked at each other.
no wanting to admit which one of us
it was. this is the kind of secret
brothers keep to their graves.
i will not tell you not even
in this poem. you, pegasus, wept.
said, "i just want to be unchallenged."
heros cut through our yard
to get to the street, walking towards town
where they would buy hard candies 
& diet soda. we brushed you & promised
to be kind. in the kitchen
our father cut new holes in his belt
to draw it tighter. his hair
grew in snakes. pegasus, you asked,
"do you love your father?"
without hesitation we said,
"yes, of course we do." the rim of fear
in each word. knowing he could hear us.
his steak knife. the horses 
he kept in the basement. 
we told you, "you should run away."
dashing again the whole length
of the yard, we got you to fly.
you tried to thank us. your wings
beating, dropping white feathers.
we disposed of them 
after you were gone.
would not want our father to know
you had been here. 
still i kept one. put it under my tongue
& waited eight more years
for it to dissolve.
today, it is gone & i am looking at
my snake tail in the mirror. 

cruise ship

we wrote "paradise" 
on each others backs. it was 
a game we liked to play 
before we walked out
into the millipede street.
in the eigth year of eating bugs
we craved citrus & leather.
you were planning all kinds of escapes.
i tried to keep you long as i could.
carry you to the crying square where
a great grandfather said,
"there used to be cruise ships 
that could come & take you away."
we filled coffins with wheels
& told the neighbor children to get inside.
we called them "cruise ships."
spent a whole night searching
for a flowering weed 
to stick inside as well.
found nothing but reeds & prickle grass.
better than nothing. better than
nothing. i used a stem
to brush your shoulder.
you said, "i think a cruise ship would be
more like a plastic bag than a coffin."
down by the river cows were 
laying on their sides. an adaptation
to survive the sun. i fed them 
handfuls of the sweet dirt.
the kind you could only find
beneath the tree covered in
tin cans. ghosts did that years ago
or so the legend says. the cows loved
the dirt. i said, "i will bring you more."
they were sick of the stinging grass.
everything tasted sharp since 
the clouds started rattling.
a kind of permiating static.
sometimes i would think, "why us?"
visited the grandfather all alone
& asked him, "is this anything
like a cruise ship?"
he said, "oh i never saw one.
it was a story my grandfather told me."
i pictured a field of nothing but
plastic bags full of sugar
& then i asked him,
"what do you think a cruise ship 
used to look like?"

wedding rings 

we were married in a bullet shell.
ate handfuls of dirt
pretending it was cake.
that year lasted longer & longer.
first a month of thirty days
& then a month of eighty. 
nights kept multiplying.
two moons arrived as brothers.
i orbited you like a wedding ring.
then, you stole all my shoes 
& threw them in a pit of fire telling me,
now you have no feet to run with.
all i could think of was
how my fathers wedding ring became so tight 
he had to take the ring off. his red fingers.
a noose is a place you are pulled from.
galleries of nooses.
now, my father's ring lives 
like a slug in the bathroom.
neon light gods gathering.
once, he lost the ring in a coral reef
in cancun. paid divers 
to retrieve it. that glint of gold
like a winking eye. you were always
a version of him as all our lovers 
are chalk outlines of our fathers. 
ice skating around my eyelids.
i plucked dandelions
from my throat. you took me diving
to go look for my face.
found a grotto of mirrors.
pointing to each on you said,
you know you are nothing but
a photograph? i know he was sort of right.
i find the frame every day.
here is where replica spit me out.
i did love him i think. laid awake
each night pulling the ring as hard as i could.
widening & widening, eventually i made it
the size of a bear trap & then
i slipped out. still though, i see
a gold ring around all my vision.
turning & turning, i expect to find
the rim. instead, i am the empty 
where a finger could go. 
he screamed in to envelops 
& mailed them to me. i do not open them.
they pile by the front door. 
i live in a metal mint tin.
my father doesn't wear his wedding ring.
it shrinks to the size of a tooth. 

invisible zoo

you took me to the invisible zoo
& told me to hold out my hand
to feed the lions.
in their enclosure
everything was a stalking.
gifts used to arrive on my porch
from you. i told you i was
a reptile house, not a girl.
at least not for you anymore.
we held hands in front of the otters.
the wide empty tank
full of splashing.
we played hide and go seek
in the hippo cage. all stampede.
oh how you liked to
make the earth shake.
your fingers making pelts of me.
how i wanted to be wanted
to be wanted to be wanted.
a gift shop stood 
in my mouth. visitors pawing through
shelves of stuffed giraffes.
have you ever fed a giraffe?
their tongues are the size
of baby legs. troughs of feed.
laying down amoung the hay.
i learned how to chew 
from goats. they used to stand
on our bed posts.
you shouldn't have left me
in a place like this.
i covered my eyes
& tried to will them chameleon
or at least zebra. a needed
to look behind myself 
& infront of myself
all at once. the tiger is endangered 
& so is the albino snake
that coiled around my ankle. 
each promise you made now animal-less.
you pointed to the glass
& said, "don't you see them."
i leaned on your shoulder & lied 
to keep you happy. "i do. i do."

star death

we all wore gold 
for the funeral. 
stood on the roof
& watched as 
black confetti fell 
like cherry blossoms
from a static sky. 
on the television
no one was talking
about the death of
several hundred stars.
instead the anchor man said,
"tomorrow we will be happy."
we tried to take pictures
but they all came out blurry.
minnows in a pot of boiling water.
i felt my skin like a screen door
blowing open. all the stars 
underneath, weeping.
a star goes with no warning.
one day is riding a bicycle
in their constellation
& the next is coming down
in pieces. is not replaced
with another star. a big hole
in the sky that night. we stuck
our fingers in it to check
if it was real. taking handfuls
of the confetti before they turned
to dust. i want to know
what is taken when a star goes.
the foot prints & the alien trees 
& the shoulders. sometimes
stars are just marbles
in my pocket but that night
they were spiders or sisters 
or at least thumbs
all sticking through the loam.
we wore gold & did not undress
for several days. until the wind
had blown away the remnants.
until we just referred to
that quadrant of sky as
"we will be happy." still,
i reach up to touch the frayed edges.
wonder if the stars chose to depart
or if it was sudden
& irresistible. 

red-wing blackbird 

i want to be wildlife
which is not the same 
as wanting to live a wild life.
i kind of already have that.
no, i want to grow like kudzu
& reeds & ivy. kissing every neck 
that wants me. we go on
a nature walk. i see us 
as two birds. talking grass all around.
your long legs in the marsh water.
my feet gripping tall reeds.
nearby, across an overpass
cars rush towards the water
as if they intend to plunge in.
i picture a road that leads
right to the water. we try to
identify the birds. argue over
whether the one above us 
is plover or a tern. agree that
you are the egret & i am the red knot.
on the way back i want to know then
who is the red-wing blackbird.
he followed up, calling & asking 
“why so soon?” which i thought meant
“why are you leaving so soon”
but really it could be anything. 
i guess i am a pretty soon person.
birds know more about us than
our brothers. you preen yourself 
in the car mirror. i want to ask you if
you want to follow the cars 
& drive past the neon hotels &
into the ocean. i know i can be drastic.
this is not a poem with answers.
i wish i was the red-wing blackbird 
i really do but he is gone now
& so are we. i think 
i’m going to tell you how i want
to grow unbroken & untamed
which is funny because we were just
on a nature walk which is 
both broken & tamed. but not 
the red-wing blackbird. 
he laughed at us.

seagull

on the board walk we say, "retro"
like it means tomorrow we will be shiny.
the day has webbed feet 
& all i want is to be 
the shell you search for 
in the wet surf. instead, 
everyone we find is broken.
jagged teeth of men
underneath the waves. 
someone stands on the sand bar 
with his arms outstreched
like he is going to be taken. do i
want to be taken?
i try to remember what hot dogs tasted like
as i walk. like snapping your fingers
& a blossom of grease. 
t-shirts grin with plastic teeth.
a dart game with giant dolphins as prizes.
no one is lucky anymore i think
except maybe the houses a block from water.
as we pass them i ask, "how much do you think
those are worth?" their owners 
don't live here & they don't believe
in sea gulls. i hold & ice cream cone.
the cream comes shaped like my baby face.
watching it melt all over your hands.
the sun says, "hell or high water."
we are sea gulls in our sifting. 
maybe there is a gem 
inside this dumpster. maybe a 
dead crab belly up on the asphalt.
finding another gull to follow
above the water. our reflections
like scars moving across a stomach.
we eat. burn in the UV rays.
a folded treasure map. a seafood shack where
we enter & the person at the counter says,
"we don't serve birds." the trail 
of feathers we left followed us
all the way here. shrimp standing 
in the display case like quotation marks
arounds the word sea gull. flying 
without any sense of when 
the next carnival will give us 
names we can use for a summer.
if i believed in gods i would have
bought less plastic. a beach towel falls
from my mouth & you fold it gentle 
as you always do. we sit 
at a diner made of fish bones.
eyes as dimes. "this was beautiful,"
i say to my own reflection
in a estuary pool. rustle of branches.
a devil in the trees licks his hands clean. 
you pluck me again. wash my face
in an outdoor shower as you ask,
"i wonder how many people
have had sex here?" the beetles
wish they were wedding rings.
my face feels like a motel on the water.
someone on every balcony.
watching the snow cone sun set.


 

shag rug

i took my purple & made a forest
for the house to grow from.
buying seeds at the grocery download.
a fork in the garbage disposal
which is better than in the outlet.
did you know there is a device
they will install in your closet now
that can take a vacation for you?
i buy the newest model of spaceship 
& try to essemble it myself.
a missing button. i stay grounded 
on the planet of the pull-tabs.
my screw driver is a father. my father 
is sleeping on the rug. is petting
the rug & saying when he was a boy
he dreamed of being american enough
to paint the grass whatever color 
his mother wanted. his mother is
a spatula or else maybe hiding
in the salt shaker. our salt shakers
are shaped like watermelon slices.
i bit into your shoulder like
it was a melon. i wish i had
a rind to lean on when everything
is aspirational like this. coffee pours
from the sink. we forgot we had this installed
& i am thirtsy. my wife asks me, "i thought you
were going to finish the spaceship today?"
i don't hear her finish her sentence.
i am already staring at the grill
& wondering how hot the sun can get & if
the sun has plans to die.
my wife is a blow dryer. 
i find a lucky outlet. pet the carpet too.
the back of a god or a brother.
we break bread like knuckles.
get to work in the shadow 
of a future purchase. i would like
one of everything, please. 

ornithophobia or fear of being carried away by birds 

i am walking on a length of floss.
yesterday, i took my shoes off
& stored them in my head.
believed my crazy was becoming
a new person. the outlines of strangers
always have wings & in my conversations 
with the hat man he says i have nothing
to worry about except for birds.
birds do not run in my family 
but once i saw my youngest brother
standing on a ledge & trying to fly.
when some people leap they become doves
& others become asterisks on the ground.
i am alarmed by my body 
& what it asks for. necklace of teeth.
grubs with their windowed organs.
i am less afraid of where they'll take me
as i am of the leaving. i imagine 
the world beneath my like a beach ball.
swallowing helium, i could just
become my own balloon. one of my friends says
birds were designed by the government 
to watch us. my fear is not contingent 
on whether or not a bird is natural.
if i'm honest though there is
a sliver of desire. i want to see
my life in minitature. i want to sell
all my clothes & wear a lovely uniform
given to me by the bird president.
who can i go to for permission
not to think at all today?
i am least worried about ducks
because i have seen their wood hearts.
watched as my mother carved them 
by the side of a mucky river.
song birds on the other hand.
they have a library of voices.
once a blue jay opened his mouth
to tell me i didn't love him
in the voice of my abuser. i covered my ears
& hurried briskly into a bathroom.
bathrooms are of course
the only place i am safe.
that's where the hat man 
keeps his wisdom. where the mirror
is also a watering hole.
elephants come. i dip my face.
drink as deep as i can. make promises
to myself that i will not & cannot keep.
"you will nail your feet to the dirt"
"you will not cover your head
as you run into the ivy" " you will
stop collecting feathers as evidence."