point blank

i want to know if when you say,
"government" you mean "god."
i want to know if when you look
at the burning television you are 
thinking about tombs or if 
you are throwing a football back
& forth until it turns into a baby. 
i just crave a truth day where
we all say what we mean. i mean
i don't know what to do anymore.
i mean i'm scared for the crows.
i mean i am unconvinced that i am 
a child. few facts comes to mind
when asked, "what do you know?"
people are dying. the sun eats spaghetti.
my brother & i can talk on the phone
for days at a time. a revolution is a place
where we all bury our hope
like peach pits in order to save it.
will we walk decades later in a grove 
of ripe fruit? i talk to my lover about
where & how we can share food 
with our friends. cans of cranberry sauce
& boxes of granola bars. is this how
we answer? i am not sure.
the spirits of uncertainty roost 
on the roof of our little house. 
they say, "what do you want
from this life?" i do not answer 
because i do not know. but i am sure
it is not enough to just wish peace
for the burning mailboxes & 
the drowning headlights. will you tell me then,
what do you mean when you say
"i'm praying for..." do not tell me
you love everyone. love is not a state.
it is where you put your body. it is 
the danger you are willing to dance with. 
i want to love like the crows.
like the animals who unwittingly
walk in front of cars. so, then, tell me
do you want to eat peaches with me? 

prized pig

oh rubber moon,
there's a ham for us yet. they tell me
i am rotten slop worship. i am the pink
limousine arriving at the tree
of fingers. god was once 
a fallen angle too. he ate 
corn on the cob until he was as round
as a roller skate. all the children
on the back of the sow as she enters
the new atmosphere. i wanted salvation.
i wanted a body worth pinning 
a ribbon to. blue ribbon boy. broken
blood vessels that used to carry groceries.
there is fat layered on my bones like wings.
hooves to be pickled. the foot of my father
in my mouth. i tried to climb
the tree to puncture a hole in god's heart.
instead, all i saw were rats up there.
big ugly rats with mouths full
of grease. god has let the afterlife go.
all he does is tell the pigs to go
& eat whatever they can. i take my ears &
plant them in the earth's core. listen
to history muttering to itself. it says,
"pork chop pork chop." cheese sliced
as thin as skin. i salt my thighs.
i ride the milkshake dragon. fill a vial
with teeth & sell if for a chance
to hear the pigs speaking. hoagie sacrifice.
it is a megatron. it is a house
of mirrors. the pigs eat one another
until there is just one big huge pig
who doesn't know where she is.
i lead her into the ocean to become
a cruise ship or else maybe at least
devoured. all the stories filling the air.
we are living popped balloon lives.
when the prized pig bites me,
all you'll hear is the sound of 
a crooked tooth becoming a mandolin. 

jonah's whale

they say my belly is a scripture.
i scoured the ocean
in search of a light. all the crustacean centuries.
my god, always deeper than i can swim.
sometime, i think i notice him
peering out with nautical eyes 
from the depths of the deepest trenches.
when i arrive it is never him. never a god. it is a ghost.
a phantom ship. a discarded soul.
some whale legends say
that the afterlife exists right here.
in the dark & the deep. 
right past where we can swim. 
as a small creature my mother would sing
a song about monsters. she would hum,
"away from the mouth, 
away from the mouth." i wonder what he
thought when he saw my mouth.
my little traveler. a water maw 
i knew i had to swallow him. haven't you ever 
seen yourself become prophecy?
become a metaphor? the truth is
that i loved him. wanted to keep him
for as long as i could. i was finally
not alone. i had someone else
to talk about death with. 
i would tell him in my tongue,
"i am afraid of changing
into a ghost without noticing."
he sat. prayed. wept. & i sometimes 
would weep too. 

wedding ring

you shoot a hole through the wall
& ask me to put my finger inside.
we are children & you are sitting
on the front step of your house
counting clementines in my eyes.
"one for me one for me one for me,"
you say. 
you promise me, "we'll move" by which
you mean, "i'll plunder you."
all the dresses i rolled to try
& find that promise. you on 
one knee in the middle of a desert.
you on one knee in the attic.
on the bed. sleeping until my heart
melts like butter. mayonnaise night.
i thought i could give away 
my eye lashes for you. i thought the hole
was a ring. a place to escape.
to be a child is to still believe
you can run away. become a woman.
some trans people talk about 
always being their gender but for me
all gender has always been something
i have to become. i became 
his angel food cake. his wife with 
a capital "w." the sound 
of a tea kettle. a spoonful of cream.
he drove barefoot. we parked 
at the creek. at mulberries. he told me
to lay still. turned me into a ring. 
he said, "you love this." i swallowed.
tried to smile. tried to find meaning 
in my soft little orbits.
still, today, i want to find him.
i want to shoot a hole in his favorite tree.
tell him, put your finger here.
stand in this spot until the crows come
& tell you that you are a woman. 

avocado roll

trading our neon,
you splinter with me. my little rain cloud
on a leash. we drink from plastic cups.
ice machine. children under the table.
outside all the cars have assassin assignments.
not us. we are runaways. we are ripe.
pits in our stomachs. stomachs 
in our throats. pulling either side 
of a pack of chopsticks like a wishbone.
tell me, where did you think you would be tonight?
where are you now? soy sauce jungle.
bathrooms for jupiter. 
in the booth we do not sit across
from one another. we sit
side by side. shoe-kissing. 
your electric flower smell. o my darling.
i find our names as crosswords
in the paper menu. wasabi tongue. gills
of ginger. would you like the last piece?

jesus hotline

i'm calling to become 
a pear tree. i'm calling because
i am lost on the side of the highway
walking towards a mountain of shoes.
dear god, let me be a son.
let me be a promised vat of honey.
the bugs are waking up
& we go to tell them, "go back
to sleep." it is not easy 
to ask the void for help. to give
our vacancies a name, call it,
"almighty." the billboard has
an image of jesus. blue-eyed 
& shining. a hotline underneath 
his chin. above the sign reads,
"you are not alone."
the cars rush by like racing dogs.
they chase the eternal rabbit. i bite
& dial. on the other end 
of the line elevator music plays.
angels scramble. no one has ever
called this number before. 
they expected it to be someone
who is ready to worship.
instead, it is me, a fragment of flesh.
a non-believer sifting
for another ghost. no one answers
& i hang up. the angels eat possum apples 
& congratulate one another 
for nothing. i get back in the car.
wait for the vehicle to leave the ground.
i fly just above the tree line.
enter the billboard through a hole
in my wanting.  live inside 
the threads of the jesus's eye.
a phone rings & i answer it.
myself on the other end of the line.
i ask, "are you ready to be saved?" 

tunnel of love

i don't need to be turned into chocolate
to be devoured. here is my cordial cherry.
here is how i gut myself 
in the interest of becoming a swan.
dear lover, haven't you ever 
taken yourself apart without a manual?
become a tiny wreckage? 
i ask you to put chlorine in the lake. i ask you
if you know where the opening is.
a mouth in the shape of a heart. 
it is dark & everyone is a follicle. everyone is
taking a handful. everyone is finding
the limit & holding it by the neck.
tin foil wrapped. cream. coconut. 
we say "boundary" like it is a place
but it is a motion. we say "love" like it is a state
but it is a movement. how a body 
can fit beside another in a boat
& emerge on the other side. 
how the angels can come to pass judgement 
& your lover will not rat you out to them. 
the kept secret. the teeth without a proper home.
kissing in the purple dark & trusting
the face you hold is soft & made of dirt.
o i want to be dug deep. i want the ride
to last longer. give me the carnival 
without anyone else but you. i need 
a night of passages. tiny manageable journeys. 
the rocking little rowboat. 
frogs on the roof of my mouth 
telling me, "kiss him now, & make us
a colony of princes." 

no licorice 

when the fiberglass house was crush
until the weight of my gender
i had to spend years plucking thorns
from my gums. once, we had a shrine
to the television. we fed her every quarter 
but she always only wanted their faces. 
chicken in the oven. chicken in the yard.
a peacock calls & demands a pizza delivery man
for a lover. the way they will tell you,
"hard work" with pockets full of remotes.
the way you can apply for a future. the way
the future is strangled by shoe laces
& dangled from the telephone wire.
the phone book but every name is my own.
calling yourself & he is not picking up.
on a night like this we should be drinking
flower tea. we should be speaking softly
to angels & pleading for a bit
of the holy honey. as we walk in the forest
i tell you, "i need to go & pet the moss."
this is my equivalent of going to touch grass
which i actually think is something more people
should try to do. my father made replicas 
of our family out of beer bottles. our fun house faces
in the bend of the glass. they're going
to say, "we're all family here" & i'm going to say
"so we all have secrets?" if i had a bag of licorice
to eat i would. i would not share even if
it was labeled "sharable size." the nods
we make to one another with language.
"i see you are too big to fit your own life.
here is some sugar." the landline is displeased
that we no longer touch her. she talks to her own
umbilical cord. she says, "he is a monster."
i let her say what she has to tell herself. 
haven't you ever found comfort in staring
at someone through their bedroom window?
there, you think, there is a little ghost. 

broken glass

i don't want to be little
i want to hover just above the ground.
you put me in one of those
bug capture containers & we travel
to where the town turns mud.
everything stuck & everything broken.
whenever we pass those apartments 
you ask if we can drive by
to look in the dumpsters. you sew me
clothing in smaller & smaller sizes.
first newborn & then glove-sized
& then i am just a paper doll.
you tac me to the corkboard 
of our lives. there was one afternoon
we found a piano. you told me to 
put it in my mouth & play 
& so i did. i tried so hard. all the keys
were discordant & you said i played
like that on purpose to attract flies.
i promised i did not but every word
i spoke came out as camels. i never meant
to be a music box but then there was 
a key & then it was sunday night
& no one else was around. i cling 
to my old life like a mussel. 
in a puddle i watch a miniature ship
sink. the ant-sized humans run & scream
& i say to you, "i do not want
to be that small." you say, "we'll see." 
i know my self. if we pull over we are 
going to find a tomb. you are going
to ask if i killed the man & i will make
my next false admission. i sympathize 
with every kind of prisoner.
especially the ones who grow 
so many wings they do not know
where to hide them. mostly i wonder
what you would do if one morning
you woke to find me in the yard 
as big as the red cedar? would you
still love me or would you walk me down
to where all the dead sofas & end tables live.
would you lay me down there 
& tell me to wait to be found? 

burying the grandfather

the grandfather was a compost dream.
was a cigar shop with an open door. was
meat in the fridge. thumbing through
a newspaper in search of obituaries.
i keep my own little private grandfather
in a can in my bedroom. i can hardly breathe.
i have a frying pan that is waiting
for a baby. we had the perfect hole for him.
his big clock face was trying to tell us
that it was midnight. gong gong gong 
went his throat. he was screaming,
"do not bury me here where the feral cats
play cards!" there wasn't another open spot.
his clock had a moon entombed 
inside a sun. isn't that how it always goes.
inside every grandfather is a chicken egg
with a grandmother inside. ancestry has a way
of skipping a stone across a monster's face.
i never intended to keep him above
for so long. we thought he would crawl 
beneath the house himself like all the others.
a grandfather is something that does not
go quietly. is a shock color or a class ring.
peaches in their shallow graves.
still, if you put your ear to the dirt
you can hear him telling you the wrong time.
now it is five in the morning & he believes
it is time for us to become his favorite chicken coop.
the grandfather has feathers himself. has a bond fire 
always burning. i throw in an old pair of eyes.
it does not destroy what they have seen.
instead, i see everything in smoke & stars.
bones cast for hopscotch. i keep a shovel 
by my bed at night in case i need to hear
his voice. cold winter night when the ground
is already frozen. i go out. dig until my body is
nothing but a dragon. there he is. 
just a little fist full of time. he groans & asks,
"what are you looking for?" i do not know
& so i do not answer. of course i will not find it here.