bee speaking / bee keeping

to hold the nest is to 
talk like the nest. we would play
whisper down the alley 
& i loved to be the one
to turn the word into a shrapnel.
there are all kinds of children.
i was one who gathered pollen
& fed it to the jaws of flowers.
language is always both creation 
& endings. sealing all the tangibles
into the glass display cases.
i want to be something unworded.
bees knit their catacombs
into the roof. my father wears
a parable to try to dislodge them
with his bare hands. i practice
saying "i love you" in swarm.
googling "why do people throw
their sneakers over the telephone wires?"
i am not the bee keeper or 
the bees but i am something in between.
this is how i teach my eyes to feast.
swallowing honey by the hexagon.
tethering my coffin to the arm
of an oak tree, i live like 
a whole colony. sending paper airplanes 
to deliver questions to god. 
why do i still wish i was
allowed to open my tongue like blossom?
i am an excavator of limits. i cannot
explain to the bees that they will
live very short lives. of course
they are aware of this but in 
a bodily way. i want them to understand
that they only have months
to learn about cartography &
musical instruments. a violin
small enough for a worker bee to play.
at the end of the day i can't save them
but i can burn myself trying.
i put the hive in a baby carridge
& walk down by the river.
a lullaby grows wings & leaves me.
the bees turn into finger bones
when this is all said & done.
i go back to trying to summon gold
with only my beard covered in pollen. 

all fours

you never told me you had 
a leather garden. i learned
from the best museums
how to steal statues.
in the water we find 
so many arms. all of them
are looking for their former gods.
in the living room we get 
archeological with the potraits.
uproot the yew looking for 'you.'
i am more afraid of my tethers
to whales than than anything else. 
if i turn over in bed
one too many times i will end up
in the dark blue ocean 
coping with the prescense of lungs.
i fit you inside my mouth. i call you
little frog. we wet our fingers
to touch the amphibians 
who have started to arrive
for a party we are not throwing. 
i explain, "it is no one's birthday"
to which they reply. "it is everyones'."
the mushrooms send a text message
to the trees that humans need to
get back to their knees.
i agree for the most part.
giving it a try, i notice
most of my problems come from 
hearing the clouds so loud.
laying in the grass i am
a whole boyhood again. a swing set 
hangs from my ribs where 
birds come to whimsy. 
we don't replant. we keep
the yard barren & i suggest,
"what if we grew obelisks."
they arrive like fingertips.
we lay with our backs up against them
& sigh. it is a shame to not
be insects. gather around
the salt lick & take turns
watching out for deer or hunters.
this lifetime is one for 
regressions. i want to be 
a hundred thousand years younger.
we uncover fern fossils
who laugh like dead trumpets.
they say, "you think you know 
what you want. you have no clue
just how loud the sun was."

intergalactic phone call regret

i cast the line out farther 
than a shoelace of light can reach.
i'm asking, "does your body ever feel
like a sand castle?" i take a shovel
& scoop water senselessly 
from the basement. give me 
a lizared heart. give me the gravity
of a trailing moon. the phone 
is covered in pins. the phone is
tangled in ivy. i ask a street lamp 
for help & it coils & says, "hello?
hello?" wrong phone calls. red planets
push everything to voicemail. 
celestial clouds like soap. 
i thought by now i would know better
not to spend all my money 
calling outlines in the night.
do you remember being 
unfettered? no, i do not at all.
i plug a space heater in.
put my feet infront of the glow.
wait for novas to respond with their
wine glass speaches. my thumb
around my own lips. how did i use
to speak so easily? my life
poured from between teeth.
still ringing, i walk out past
the mail boxes to get a better signal.
stars in murmmuration. the telephone wires
playing cats cradle without fingers.
no one has ever picked up 
but that does not mean
it will not be tonight. i light a candle
only i can see. blood making
race tracks toward a violent november.
the ringing ends. a creature
without an answering machine 
does not know they were wanted.
my voice becomes a glow worm
that i must put in a terrarium.
prepare for the death of. 
of course, there will be more.
pulling the sun from a compact
& standing by the morning-bruised window.
the telephone is not--
was not a telephone. 

disappearing spell

as a boy-girl i talked to dragons.
alone in my bedroom i watched
as they spilled gems from their chests.
circled the ceiling & became 
golden rings that fell around me. 
i stepped into my own skull like a lair. 
there, found the skeletons of children past.
hoped to stay there
where no one else could find me.
at school most days i spent recess by myself.
sat under the dying oak tree
& looked for worms to witness.
other kids would practice their knives on me. 
i stood still as if i could
make myself vanish. but now i had a spell.
on the floor i worked to decode
the scripture from my dragonology book.
a big red picture book that everyone like me
treated as bible. page after page
of dragon diagrams & maps. this page
was titled "disappearing spell."
i thought of this as a departure.
wrote a letter to my parents 
that began, "i loved you very much."
dreamed of days of being nothing at all.
moving like air. no body at all
to capture me. the instructions explained
to complete the spell, all you had to do
was spill an included packet of fine purple glitter 
all over your body. i braced myself.
recited the incantation as i spread
the flecks of glitter. i waited.
found my body unchanged. said the words
over & over. it was like the reverse
was happening. i was becoming more 
& more perminant. i cried. brushed glitter
from my face & my arms. went to a mirror
to be sure. yes. there i was.
there i was with all my freckles 
& my round face. streets away
the dead oak tree's arms plucked stars
from the nightsky like strawberries for me.
i lay in bed that night. told the dragons
what had happened. they closed their eyes
& said, "look, no we cannot see you.
now you can be disappeared." 

this building is not empty it is full of bats

pleading with the lemon juicer,
"i need a minute but i'm almost ready."
you tell me to not be so hard 
on myself. i find the tornado 
exactly where i knew i shouldn't go.
often i enter the mansion of my head
holding a lantern. ferris wheels
take their lunch breaks & 
i place my childhood in front
of the tv where it will do less harm.
our attic was once full of warm bodies.
opened the window & watched them
become a new color. still, my shoes light up
if i stomp hard enough on the sidewalk.
the dead are all of our downstairs neighbors.
a can opener for beet-purple planets.
am i bleeding or just loosing.
i tried double-dutch but turned out
to be too gay for repetition. the coach nods.
asks for me to show him 
how i make a fist. taking the window
off the house. letting the breeze
do whatever it wants. curtains
blown open like lips. i get 
really close with guys on dating apps.
we are wound like rockets. 
then i leave. the house grows 
so many weeds that i take to calling them
flowers. all my flowers have child-names.
keeping the lights off so as
to not distrub the colony. shoulder 
to shoulder. how do you talk to
your ceilings? i cover my eyes.
rush out of the mansion & out
of my body. call me a helicopter.
a paper airplane aimed at a question.
home is where you put your teeth away.
i don't have a place like that.
careful so as to not awaken a swell.
wings on every banister. holding my breath.
escaped to the front lawn.
a mailman delivers an extension cord.
i charge my iphone from the porch.
all the hairs on my arms stand up.
the bats are taking turns asking,
"who is he?" "who are they?" 
"who is she?"

thorn-touching

i had a crown of beautiful
talon. the urge 
to trace my own limits.
where the telephone polls 
hold their gardens 
as close as knives.
you drew me nearer 
with a urinal of coins.
my number for the time 
of your life. flesh 
for the golden future.
all glory is about is about
how you enter the unknown.
i knew this was a bramble.
counted the teeth
on each of your fingers.
snakes nesting 
in the warmth of our
matches. this was not then
an unknown at all.
this was a coal walk
into hell's vibrant hearth.
promises in the form
of hard caramels
& latex. wrapping even
your tongue you said
this is all you needed
then you throw a stone
into the pond of my face.
thorns of each ripple.
one whole ocean covered 
in push-pins. i asked 
your permission 
to run. you grabbed my wrist.
gas stations turned 
inside out. emptied 
like abandoned purses.
made me look at my palm-reading.
there, i followed 
the asphalt of my life line
right back to your tongue.

birds run the rain machine

the pulleys & the knots i saw.
they harvest water for weeks
ferrying mouthfuls one flight at a time.
i crave the kind of 
bottomless rain
that makes rivers on both sides
of every street.
i tell a flock of chickadees,
"i could help you,"
by which i mean i want to see
the mechanism. where water lives
& how the birds find consensus 
to let rain come.
the patience birds must have
that i do not. i can hardly
collect pennies or dimes
before spending them 
on a cup of coffee. steam fills
my glasses. i am sadly not a bird.
the chickadees are offended 
that i think i can 
just jump into a process like this.
after all, the device is mostly 
a secret. a stone skipped
from beak to beak to beak. 
i discovered it only because 
once i climbed a mountain
at just the right time. 
saw the whole sky. i mean every detail.
the conveuyer belts &
crows perched at the helms. 
how everything moved like lungs.
stood in awe. collected feathers
from the rocky dirt
in the dream of constructing 
my own flight to this engine.
only finding four,
ilet them drop like 
row-less boats ready for
when the storm would come.
i ask a cardinal,
"what can i do to get there."
the cardinal whispers
three words i couldn't make out.
i pretend i heard him. 
take a walk in the greying world,
waiting for the first drops 
to come down so i can say,
"i know exactly how this happens."

splitting

at the hardware store
we purchase seeds. squash 
& sunflowers & watermelon. 
talk to the seeds like infants.
"they have our eyes &
our urges." hold them in our palms
then lay them on the kitchen table.
we have no dirt except inside
our own skulls. i remember 
opening my mouth for you
to shovel the top soil in.
then, i did the same. you laughed.
wiped a smudge from your chin.
what are we willing to give up?
the apartment gets an inch smaller
every day. the houseplants die by jumping
from the window. my father is a planter.
he will put a seed anywhere 
there is a tongue to catch it. 
once i caught him slipping pumpkin seeds 
into the floor boards of the childhood house. 
he put a finger to his lips & said,
"hush, i'm working." the next day
the living room was split 
in all kinds of slivers. vines grew.
burst wood & windows. he said,
"look at this mess you made"
talking to the pumpkin. weeks later
the plant died. we carried away the rot 
as a family. i put the seed on my tongue
& press it down. let the soil fill in
behind to cover its path. 
what journey's into deep have you taken?
i picture my skull like
the living room. my father with
an ice cube laden glass. his knuckles.
his fingers. all my first fragments.
the gourd bursting: vestigial self. 
growth is also the destruction 
of a before landscape. oh how
i loved that room even with 
its darknesses. the bruises.
the speckled carpet. you ask me
"will it hurt?" i lie to you.
i say, "it's something you get used to."
the seeds hum inside our heads
all weekend but never open.
eventually die out. we caught up
the shells months apart.
i say nothing about the living room.
you buy new house plants.

splinter cat

i dangled my face on a length of rope
as lure. stepped out into
the shattered woods. storms 
gut-punched each other until dusk
& now are feet were whittled down
to the hoof. taking comfort 
in the chatter of biblical birds.
their cowls & scripture-written feathers.
i wanted to find the mammal
whose skull marked trees all the way
to the other side of the gorge.
bark rubbed raw by their fits 
of determination. i have also 
spent nights ramming my skull
into trees. hoping to loosen
the nests of wings. praying the next knock
will be the one that's enough.
fracture the willow. gain all her arms.
he prefers birch. i feel every bone
as i trace his marks. in the distance
i can hear him. thump thump thump.
the pounding of bone to torso.
you used to tell me it is a miracle
i've made it this far. look at the scars
that make jacob's ladders across my arms.
no one has ever truly seen
the splinter cat & i am not sure
i would like to be the first. 
for now i just follow his evidence.
until the sun makes all the promises
it cannot keep. orange leaking
into the blue night. cracked knuckles.
iphone flashlight. mud caked on boots.
i find another tree snapped at the waste.
stop to collect its leaves to fill my pockets
as if they were twenty-dollar bills. 
i want to know everything about you
expect how you look. in the glow
of the waxing moon. i see your eyes sometimes
behind my own. dueling gems 
in a dark velvet box. 

the night after i ghosted you

a waterfall arrived in the closet.
first the faint sound of rushing
as i slept. i hold my pillow
to my ear like a conch shell
so i just thought it an ocean.
stood in dark bedroom
& used an iphone flashlight
to locate the sound. i worried it was
my own blood. then wondered if you
had somehow come to find me.
you, a river of longing. your pictures
taped to the high ceilings 
behind my eyes. you, the boy three towns away
with short brown hair & a motocycle.
thought about your coat hanger elbows
& banana smile. you saying, 
"i have never done something like this before." 
i couldn't tell if you meant
being with another guy or being with
a trans guy. i decided i was rare
if nothing else. felt the cool splash
of water from beneath the door
& pulled the closet open wide. 
it was too late for my clothes,
those had been rushed away hours ago.
the waterfall plumetting 
into the soul of the building.
taking all the worry with it.
endless water. reached out
to submerge a hand & almost
got sucked down. pictured myself
like a sweater thrown from 
a roof-top. washed my face with handfuls.
cool brillant & star-stipled.
the waterfall wept like i wanted to.
was everything i wanted to be.
spilled without reason. apologized 
in cycles. "i'm sorry i'm sorry
i'm sorry." i don't know if it was meant
for myself or for you. but, then again,
can't an apology have as many legs
as it needs. i left the door open.
soaked the floor of the room. 
sat in bed & watched the water pool
until the falls were done. run out
of tandtrum by the clementine morning.
peeled the days rind with my thumbs.
my short nails. finding all my clothes
hanging in the closet. faintly damp 
from the night's escapades.
i wanted to ask the waterfall 
if i was a bad person. i know though
water is almost always too busy to answer.
i lay towels out on the floor
to soak up the remaining pools
on the hardwood floor.