animal sleep

i go sleepwalking with the bears.
they mistake me for one of their own
& i get far into the mountain. we will
probably have to eat bugs in the future
when everything crumbles
& we get all survival mode.
i am okay with it as long as they
taste kind of tangy. i google "do bugs sleep?"
& discover they actually invented sleep.
there was a little locust who thought,
"the world is too beautiful
to stare at all the time." i scream at the moon.
i smash flies with my thumb & wipe off
their lives like question mark dots.
i sent my doctor a message through
the portal which sounds more magickal
than it is. i ask him if there's any way
he could get me to sleep like a dog.
i watch my pugs sleep & they know
what it really means to dig a hole 
& go dark. i don't think i've ever 
been as heavy as them while they
are asleep. i tell the doctor i could settle for
the sleep of a cat if the dog is too hard.
he does not respond. he blocks me.
the portal crashes & starts speaking bird.
i hate the bedroom. i always have. 
in my favorite apartment my bedroom
was nothing but a bed on the floor. 
yeah yeah i know what they say about boys
is true. it's my gender showing. i miss
that place so much it hurts. the quiet
was so thick & velvety. i slept beside the dogs
& when it snowed none of us had ears.
the layers dampened even the sound
of the sun. all i heard were crystals 
telling me, "close your eyes."
i shut them tight. press on the pupils
until i see a volcano. i bursts & turns
all of us into statues. i don't mean to be
so doomsday. i'm trying to mentally prepare
myself for no longer being able
to sleep. what will i do with my wakefulness?
the bears will turn around. notice i am
not one of them. eat me & when
they're done, feed my bones to the moon.
that is how she stays glowing & white. 

changeling 

sometimes i'll have otherworld memories
of before i was swapped into this one.
the ringing of the flowers & a cactus
with thirty mouths. as a child,
i was always trying to go back to being
a fairy. i have never been good at any 
of my changes. not a boy or a girl or 
a spy or a secret. i am trying to believe
that it could be a blessing to be a portal.
people visit me sometimes to speak
their pasts into my throat. i hold them.
let them turn into birds. my partner jokes
i have "tell me your life story" eyes. i am
not sure if that is a remnant of the previous world
or something i have learned in this one
in order to survive. that is the hardest part
about knowing i come from somewhere else.
i try to sort out all the pieces. which memories
are invented to try & salvage myself?
which ones are made of wood & which ones
are gasoline? there are rainbows in all kinds
of fires. i once walked away from town
with a bundle of white cotton-tooth flowers.
i had this feeling that i was going home.
why did i stop myself? i often wonder
if there was some mission i am neglecting.
changelings must have a purpose or else
maybe it is my job to make it. not all legends
are parables. instead, sometimes we are
writing another story of how everything 
falls apart. i have changeling friends. we never
admit that we know this fact about one another.
i can see it in their eyes. i picture my human child
in the fairy world & wonder if they are
are lost as me? if i had the chance, i do not 
think i would want to meet them. 

jellyfish religion

i always find a way to worship. 
fill the sink with fireflies or 
draw a face on the ceiling 
above the bed. i wake up with
a tick on my thigh. he is gorgeous
& i almost let him keep drinking.
when i was small my father would
paint the ticks with nail polish
to get them to fall off. i sometimes
mistook them for gems. 
i cut him in half though & his
little parable concludes with a drain
& gushing water. 
i drive to the nearest aquarium 
to witness a tube of jellyfish. they pulse
& i try to talk to them. none 
are interested & so i bring offerings
to the glass. a doll & a pile of my hair.
they are too busy being gods
to have time to bother with me.
i keep my truths in little ziploc baggies 
like sandwiches. fill the freezer to the roof.
i wake up so early that it is not
the next day, the day has just grown
a lovely velvet twin. i think if the jellyfish.
how years ago i swam out to the sandbar
& found myself surrounded. i had 
a chance then to join them. i chose
to take the wild swim back to shore.
i was not stung even once. they spared me
& i do not know why. their bodies
like breaths. on the right nights 
i swear they fill the windows. i dress
in jewels of ticks. walk on clouds.
join them, a slip of kelp in the tide. 

conflicting reports

some people still believe
in angels. i just believe in a mailbox
where i wait for enough money
to eat as many locusts as i want tonight.
do not get me mistaken for a prophet,
i am just saying stuff. i'm just opening my mouth
& hoping no crocodiles come out. 
there are conflicting reports
as to whether or not a ufo
landed in the corn field tonight.
i could go either way as to whether
or not i believe it. 
i ask the frogs & they say, "that happens
every night." i guess i should have
assumed. so much is going on
that i don't eye-witness. 
it is best to assume there are several 
joyful mysteries & several terrible horrors
all happening right now. some people
on another planet start a rumor
that the earth ended two hundred years ago
when a specific whale species died 
& was never known by us. i start a rumor
that i am actually dead. that i died 
a decade ago & whatever i am now
is a hologram. what a hologram.
i turn the house over in pursuit 
of a projector. i used to have a room of chickens.
now they stalk the yard in search
of snakes. i hold all the space ships 
inside me. i see a field & witness it
tail dove. one side one fire. the other side
ripe with gummy worms. 
don't listen to me. i try not to listen to me.
the place smells like rot. 
i just want a clean little runaway 
to fly a plane out of here from. 
i write "help" in the corn. the cicadas
are the only ones who come. 
all we can do is scream. 

home videos

in my dream we drive to canada 
& get a parking ticket. it looks like
tennessee with all the hills & knees. 
i used to have a video camera
when i was a kid
with tiny tapes in it. i did not know
how to watch the films anywhere
besides the small back window.
it was like a submarine portal.  i laid
on my stomach to witness them. 
we made music videos & sometimes
ghost stories in the yard with 
all the rusted nails. my dreams get
smoother the older i am. 
one of these days i'll wake up
& i won't feel rot all around me. 
that's not today. instead, i am trying
desperately to name all the flies. 
i start with soft names & more on
to sharp ones like "kevin" & "alex." 
i have a parking ticket that i've forgotten
to pay & the centipede parts of me
want to know what will happen 
if i never do. i am already running
from the state, why not make it
electric & green? of course not.
i am going to stay on a path
that leads me to snacks standing
at a kitchen counter & a field
of tall grass & berries. the tiny joys
that bring me to tears. i wanted
to stay in canada. there was a bookstore
& all those trees. i don't know how
i got back without a car. i put on
walking directions to the small town
in italy where my grandmother
was from. they do not know me
& i do not know them. i walk there.
it takes a month. when i arrive
it is canada but instead of tennesee
the land looks like san diego. 
desert flowers & buttery shoreline. 
i want to watch the videos. i want
to see them playing all the time.
where did those phantoms of me go?
i guess they are still in the video camera's
belly hidden in a box in a box. 
my parents house grows a million legs
& yet somehow, still does not move. 

cock pot guts

i don't know how anyone finds 
the time to chew their food. instead,
i swallow things whole like
a fucking snake. i have seen my dad
unhinge his jaw when he gets home
from work. the factory is not just
a place but an entity that moved through him
into me. i find myself in boiling water
with the flesh falling off the bone.
tender as a flight of bird children. 
i do not know much about eating. i know
about parking lots & driving 
through a portal into another town
where the supermarket smells different.
i used to make a trek to the shoprite 
on the other side of the fork in the road.
left at the adult world & the fried chicken place.
rural pennsylvania is a place for 
people who carry forks in our purses.
we haven't really had a good meal in years.
the food turns to water. we drink.
my father was never good at making dinner.
instead, he took us to the tavern. 
i loved to sit at the bar & watch men
turn into turkeys. french fries & a sword
lodged in a stone. i draw a bath 
of beef broth. i put a bouillon cube 
on my tongue like communion. i get
a text that there is a church full 
of steak. we get there to find it empty.
nothing but the bones. we dig in the soil
until we find a time capsule full of 
trail mix it is enough for now. it is enough
to keep me from turning into a bagged lunch.
a sea gull dies mid flight. i bury her
& all the oceans she has. 

inside the leopard purse

what do you mean you don't
have a face? what do you mean there 
aren't halos stuck in the drain?
all i asked for is excess. i want
the too much jungle. 
i need my headphones to overflow
with the life we can't have. 
each spot is a continent on 
another planet where they have
this shit figured out & no one
is hungry & every spends the nights
looking at the stars & dreaming.
in the sacristy the sinks feed 
into the soil. i get my pipes like that.
return my crumbs to their mother.
i bought the purse as a joke. faux fur.
the animals still running. the joke
gets less funny the hungrier i am.
i wear it to the train station. there are
not actually any trains so we're just
standing there with empty bags.
i fill my purse with leaves. crawl inside.
get really really really lost. i feel
like i did in grad school when there
were too many hours & not enough.
i throw coins into passing boys' mouths.
love finds me like a parking ticket.
you are too late. there is a wild cat
at the door & she is offering her skin
in exchange for all the meat in the fridge. 

smoke alarms 

i watch the smoke alarms
turn into eyes
one by one. first the one in the hall
that watches me take my face off
& flush it down the toilet
each day. i know in the case of a fire
that at least i will be seen. 
witnessed by some being elsewhere.
almost every place i've ever lived in 
has had a fire next door. the one on
delaware ave when the row houses 
caught one after another. 
this is how stars are formed. the brief horror
of one night stretching the length of
our lungs. in a dream someone tells me,
"you would look better with wings."
i hear the smoke alarm go off 
in the middle of the night. all the eyes 
screaming. i press a finger to the iris.
i tell them there is nothing to see anymore.
one car rides when i'm sitting shotgun
i have to close my eyes. if i leave them open
i'll get car sick & dizzy. when no one else
is home i'll occasionally close my eyes
& feel my way around the house. 
i buy more fire alarms. i stich them 
inside the oven. bake them until 
they are gold & we are so safe that we 
no longer need water. one alarm chirps
& i bury it under the cedar tree. the tree
blooms with nestlings. i do not know
what it means to be safe. the house
stares like a window man. i learn to perform
in all places. search in my ribs 
like a sock drawer in the hopes of finding
a desire i can salvage & fill with air. 

underwater playground

when they find our tongues,
i hope they hear us laughing.
i take my water body
& sink as deep as a stone.
in the shower, i trace a ladder
down your back. 
there we are in the dance room. there
we are without eyes. wheels
for fingers. the slide into a ripe darkness.
i want to meet you there 
in the underwater playground.
my breath held tight as a fist.
i want to not be able to speak words. 
let go. a ghost comes out my mouth.
climb stairs into an ancient game. 
it is quiet. after years of searching
my whole life for a place to be dead,
i find it here. the fish do not come.
instead, they treat it like a haunted house.
we trace the symbols in stone.
never lost to the salt or the song.
i cannot come home. you will have
to point to pictures of me & say,
"he is somewhere else now
beneath the water, kelp in his hair." 

speed limits

if we get home, i want to open all the windows
& let the bugs in. yesterday i drove to 
new york city alone. i prefer to speed by myself.
then no one can see just how bad 
a driver i am. well, i guess that is 
besides all the cars around me. but that is at least
an anonymous kind of shame. they were
having all their own little horrors anyway. horns 
& necklaces of taillights. i crave to go faster
than i should. i don't know if this is a confession
or a proclamation. when i was small
my dad would drive me through the cornfield roads
in the blue jeep. he drove as fast as he could.
the air moved through us & we briefly became birds.
i miss that car. it was like
an uncle & a dog at once. a creature that carried
us through thunderstorms & firefly seances.
i take the speed limit & chew on the zeros.
the roads are full of ghosts. i have been traveling
so much lately that i am starting to feel like i'm
living out of my car again. don't get me wrong
that was awful but there were these moments
of sugary smallness. a parking lot without 
any street lamps. a gas station brownie.
a moth too stunning to be from here. 
we get home & there is no house. there is just
a speed limit sign. a herald of the go-fast times
which we are barreling towards. the cicadas 
twirl their engines. the mosquitoes plant gems
beneath our flesh. i tell you, "i think we should 
get going." the headlights each swallow 
their own throats' worth of dark.