software update

i'm sorry i'm giving you a new life already.
there was a glitch in the last one
& sometimes we got away with too much.
crows come in a murder
bearing the bones of an old promise i made to you.
do you remember when we walked
through the night like carnivores?
i caught a song bird & you ate the music.
all the disasters are dormant for right now
& i can pretend i am living the exact same
version of the life we had together.
we go to the water & fish out loved ones faces
just to hold them up to say,
"you are just like my father" or
"you are just like my mother." everyone is
a father or a mother. those are the two genders.
in this version though i'm told you can be
a monster. i do not believe the new life
is better but i do believe in the early bliss.
let's burn down an ice cream parlor. let's kiss
where only the rain water dwells deep in the earth.
rock salt will take care of all our worries.
my love, you are not the same as when
i first swiped you from an apple tree.
you are covered with eyes. i am a sea 
of dogs. you shut your eyes. i hold my breath.
the screen goes black. i find you hand 
or a stranger's. there is a new mouth
& a new radio chanel on;y we can talk on.
tell me you still remember the blue couch. tell me
you still like the taste of green. 

holy ghosts 

we sunday-schooled into the dark.
by which i mean we held a seance for god
& invited all the neighbors.
once, in the church, i believed i saw
the baptismal fountain full
of leeches. we played tag 
in front of the mary statue.
her eyes bled. she didn't hold a jesus
she held a dove. i have met the holy ghost.
he carried a platter of tooth picks.
then, his face was a pool of whipped cream.
in sunday school we were taught
all the parts of the mass. walked through
the quiet church & saw all the bees
humming in their pews. my gender is
holy ghost. a dove & then a fire.
there is so much kindling. 
gathering around he stained glass window 
& talking about crusifixion. 
i want someone to pin me like a specimen.
like butterflies in a museum. 
who hasn't been crucified anymore? 
if you walk into the wrong store 
soon there will be romans 
casting lots of your clothes. i guess i favor
a god without a face. we sat in a circle
while our classmate laid on the floor.
he was sick. we laid hands on him
to heal him. his eyes become coin slots.
fed him quarters. a tithe is where
you sever the body. a thumb
in the collection basket. the holy ghost
knocking on the door in the middle 
of the night. i speak from
the other side of the door,
"we are sunday-schooling. we are good."
hear the ghost breathing. 
they do not depart. we do not sleep
until the sun is a bowl 
of lemon wedges & the church 
gorges itself on light. 

weights

haven't you ever lifted a dwarf planet? haven't you ever
had to roll the stone away from the mouth of a tomb?
in the fish bowl we took turns hoisting each other
above our heads. flight is about betraying the ground.
for centuries witches have flown. gathered in 
the pickled woods & spoke incantations until
our bodies lifted. moths before a fire. i used to lift weights 
at the gym in an attempt to become a mountain.
stared into the mirror. men came & left. i was holding
the barbells wrong. i strained my muscles. laid in bed
for weeks after. the sinews all screaming, "no more."
i returned though. cradled heavy. i am a caretaker 
of weights. physical & all-encompassing. once, 
on a date with a man he took out his skeleton & said,
"this is for you to polish." it was heavier than it looked
but i did what he asked. i want to not always do
what someone asks but my body says, "let's be carriers."
a paper weight where my heart should be. i pluck papers
from a gust of wind. i break the spine of books. 
the tomb was not empty. the tomb was full of teeth
there was just no easy way to say that to a crowd
of mourning people. when i say i am a prophet i mean
i am coming to tell you only what you want to hear.
we are saved. we are saved & all you have to do is 
ferry this skull full of candles frmo door to door
to door until the light goes out & the whole world midnight. 

fox fires

i used to feed the fire melon rinds
& ask for a song in return.
the foxes would come then 
with their flutes & their keyboards.
a forest is a place you always
return to. where the roots 
carry secret promises & spent money
& soundless laughter. i go & finder an outlet
to plug a monster into. sawing down
a grandfather & using him to feed
the ravenous parts of myself.
masculine stones & feminine stones.
the foxes, not unlike a phoenix, 
are prone to combustion. prone to lighting 
matches & singing until there is nothing left.
lately i feel like there is always a cost
for revelry. but just for once i would like
to kiss a thumb print & have it not
turn into a labrinyth.
centaur in the cellar. the foxes 
say they are not doing what they are doing.
knives in their teeth. knives in the monster.
the forest, shrinking to the size
of a pie tin. i want to escape 
the knowledge of all i've had to do.
lighting another fire. eating the guts
of a watermelon & not sharing
a single bite. 

fire/house

there is a siren in the living room
& men coming through the windows.
in this memory, it is august, the month of
candied teeth. we used to live
down the street from a church
& the church was always burning down.
engines in the trees. red harvest.
red moon. putting on the suite 
& climbing into the gallery 
of tongues. who taught you
how to speak when you are terrified?
i would wave to workers as they pulled valleys 
from our yard. men running.
poles down into the belly of 
a massive promise. here we come.
here we always come. i drew escape plans
on brown paper napkins.
rolled them up & put them under
my brother's pillow. always planned
to take him with me if everything 
went up in flames again. but,
when the time comes you never do
what you said you were going to do.
there was a moutnain of shoes.
a rush. smell of burnt rubber.
gas furnance. picking up the one item
i could take. i was not my heart.
it was a little mirror scratched 
& covered with dust. i was not inside it.
the windows spat spiders. mice ran 
making necklaces with their bodies 
in the yard. the men never save you
even if they believe they have. 

space shuttle breakfast

we ate the shine off soda cans
& took turns spinning the sun. 
stars that swarmed in our heads.
i said i did not want to be 
an expedition but there i was 
one that back of a great jupiter beetle.
everything reflected in my eyes.
you took a spoon to my irises 
to fish out the space junk. 
we laid on our backs. used the moon
as a golf ball & talked about 
our childhood rooves. mine was slanted
& my father would climb up there
to shout at god. when mom wasn't home
i would join him or i would record
the whole thing on a video camera.
have you ever thought about how
the past sits like a burned disc.
the sound of a dream booting up.
we took strolls out to where
news headlines paces as jaguars.
i never believed in god but especially
not after i saw the solar system.
every celestial body in fishnets
or lace. they beckoned & i blushed.
covered my face. ate my freeze-dried
love poems until it would soon be time
to return to orbit. to the grinning grass
& hotel rooms with the last guest's food
still in the mini fridge. 
a gust of wind tosses pollen
from the fists of the trees.
what i miss most about the shuttle
was the weightless way 
we could cry & watch the tears depart
as glass beads. 

weight watcher's snacks 

give me the smallest chocolate fist.
girlhood comes for me 
without licking her lips.
everything turns to numbers 
past the throat but let us pretend
for once that we are animals.
i am the goat & you are the cat.
the door knobs of my eyes open
into the cellar where all
the ice cream lives. a pound of fat
is enough land to start a family.
let's be nuclear in our wanting. 
two by two by two. two pound cakes.
two individually wrapped chocolate chip cookies.
a bee hive grows in the stairwell 
& i sneak tablespoons of honey.
when we are feeling guilty we find 
the frozen vegetables & take turns 
weeping into bowls of green beans.
my grandmother had hands like salad spoons.
we jog in place. i earn my way 
to dessert where women stand 
like pillars of salt. did you know
salt has no calories? did you know
sugar is a silent snow storm?
i put on sneakers & run as far as i can.
whole body throbs. a gas station says,
"here we have weight." i crouch 
on the curb & wish i mother was here
to eat with me. wish i knew anything
about pretzel twisting. plastic comes
to make a ravoili of my heart.
you are safe within this parameter.
i take off my hooves & hang them
above the hearth. we do not talk
of our stomachs. the honey crystalizes
& turns into weddings. i am thinned 
to the width of a knife. 

roller rink ghosts 

we laid on our stomachs 
to peer underneath the rink.
there was a legend a man lived there
with a tree bark face & a rabid dog. 
a wooden jungle of boards & bombs.
what are you doing friday night?
the disco ball that came like
a second sun. a new god. 
here the light is faeried
& fickle. beams across your teeth.
i loved all girls on roller blades.
their knees like ripe peaches.
my face, a bowl of soup.
summer had enough hair for all of us.
willow tree with the missing arm.
the squirrels with their girlfriends
in the oak trees. i sat on a swing
away from the thrum of the rink.
swayed back & forth & pretended 
i was a cherry. the pit in me
rolled back & forth. ponytail-lifed girls.
the smell of cucumber melon.
i waited for the park to empty.
baseball field lights casting
long & wandering shadows.
the rink went dark. a husk of spiral.
around & around. i always felt like
a solar system inside there. 
i went alone to peer beneath 
in the july dark. for a moment 
i thought i saw a pair of eyes.
the man or else maybe just 
a lost glance? a pilfered stare 
i wished to cast at all the girls.
their beautiful nights wrapped up
& carried away in ribbons & syrup.
the night bugs laughed. the man 
benweath the rink laughed & 
i took my shadow with me 
to begin the walk home across 
the street lamp lit town. 

seven gates of hell

we took our eyes out & burried them at the entrance.
rust on our fingers. rust on the sun. we came
at dusk looking for a threshold. birds turned
& flew back into them dusks. the soft animals,
the squirrels & the rabbits all put on 
their carnival faces as they followed us.
feeling in the dirt for stones to fill 
our pockets. the legend says a doctor once tried
to build a way into the belly of the world.
worked late into the night. shovel. grit. 
record player howling. the process swallowed him
& in his place, the first gate. then another
then another. an elongating spine. what are we then?
shreds of yarn? skeleton holders. knees 
in the brush. the sound of wind turning into
children. they run & run & then are gone. 
a broom against cement. doors that open & shut.
in the mud, our eyes rest like wintered toads.
a body is a thing that always escapes. go on
& on. we went until the sixth gate before 
everything echoed. limbs fell from the sky.
bones in our mouths spat on the ground.
hell sang like a broken bell. come come come
it said. you took my hand & tried to speak.
your tongue, a salamander. nothing left to do
but push forward but the last gate trembled.
a forest creature said with a voice 
like frozen turtles, "last chance"
& it was enough to yank me free. i took your
& we turned around. reget nesting 
in my stomach. when we came to our eyes 
they were shivering. blinked & saw
nothing but darkness. the forest. 
no street lights. felt our way for the car.
headlights ripped holes in the night.
we tore away quickly. the animals watched
still in their masks. i said, "do not look back"
as you drove & drove & drove. 

growing the piano

we planted everything we could think of.
earrings & the old oboe & my father's
stamp collection, all in the softening 
early spring earth. at night then
we gathered to pour milk into soil.
my father added beer & whiskey.
i kneeled & wept. a daughter is a place
a family stores their sobbing 
& their ribbons. my hair flew away 
as a great red hawk. power lines grinned 
at our work. all we wanted was the piano.
the finally & the forest laden.
watching as the dirt swelled 
on the first night she grew. how in the house
we all ate nothing but blue potatoes.
boiling blankets. the billyard ball moon.
none of us knew how to play a piano of course.
"not yet," dad would say. a song is a ticket
out of history. everything we wanted to sing
arrived in our bedrooms as moths.
ate holes in our vision. thread bare. 
runs in stockings. i was the first to see
the piano bloom. keys spat from earth.
morning sun, a bowl of mardarin oranges.
i tried to imagine ways to steal the piano
for myself. to peel "family" from my bones.
there was no where to go. just the beast
in the same dirt as the tomatoes.
i sat at the bench. too a walk across
only the black notes. it was as if 
the creature was saying, "no more
no more." then, my father came
& lugged body from dirt. my mother watched
still in her night clothes & holding
the cast iron morning sausage pan. 
"this is our son," dad said. "look at him."