for a love of serpents 

we eat all the apples in the cupboard
then go out into the future to find more.
devouring until our skin is mesh 
& wire. the god of ice picks stands.
he glares holes through our bedroom walls.
i was always the eve of this union. i put on
your leash & walked you to where 
the comets collect like dead tennis balls.
we were not trying to be good though. we were 
trying to be satisfied. honey came
from all the faucets & we got sick 
on the stems & leaves. i did not tell you
there was a snake. then, i did not tell you
i was the snake. shedding my life 
in sleeves. closet of skins. apple peels.
the garden of flourescent signs.
open. open. here. here. here. here.
snakes in the fridge & snakes in the mirror.
my love there are apples though.
enough apples for arsenic poisoning. enough
seeds to give the moon her spider eyes.
i never wanted to be the leader of
our brilliant downfall. but, my love, 
was this a downfall? instead i think maybe
we didn't want to be nude. i think we wanted
to be naked. your skin a headlight machine.
my skin, the snake's nest. let's not weep
& pretend we liked the sound of orange 
every single night. you wanted fire.
you wanted my teeth. you wanted 
me to show you the serpent. speak with me
in my doubled tongue. we have escaped. 

inside of whales 

here everyone is a prophet. 
we do shadow puppets
on the whale walls 
& talk about the old world
of air. we all say 
"before this life i was a..."
& so on & so on. i was just
a sandpiper & my legs took me 
like lit matches towards the eyes 
of gods. the whales are not whales
but tractor trailers. the ocean has static
& lost umbrellas. someone asks,
"would you like to call home?"
their cell phone is a blush compact.
i would like to call home. puppet of a rabbit.
puppet of a brother. bone into shadow.
the whales are full of xylophones.
play a song about the beginning. apples 
& snakes & a garden of green glass bottles.
some of us were swallowed. some of us
were walking our darkest nightmares.
woke up in the pink of the whale. organ 
& sea salt. brushing our hair with the baleen.
there are no enough monsters. there are
not enough windows. ways to escape.
the need comes urgent in the deep.
when i know we are passing a shipwreck
of ghosts. i think. here. let me off.
let me become one of them. a gas station
burning blue. beacons of ever species.
i use my phone flashlight to go deeper.
there, a statue of jonah. his eyes 
are krill. his words come popcorning 
across the ground. i do not tell him
but i aspire to live a mythology.
to be uncovered. to be cavernous. 

gas mask fashion trending

armageddon in the mirror & a compact
with a smiling everything inside. 
don't tell me what is beautiful. i already
have seen glamor. we buy our gas masks online
before they're sold out because we live
right on the lip of wave. before the crash.
before all the bobbles are useless. 
i look like a goddex. i look like a survivor.
when the smog descends we all go out
to test our majesty. three of us
don't come home but that is life 
in a state of fire. i want a blue one
& a teal one & a purple one. i want a picture
with the moon dipping dreamless behind me.
breathing used to be so mundane. 
used to be thoughtless. now, i can see
the internet on the inside of my exhales.
each a silken glove. let's not get too excited
before another texture drops tomorrow.
a post about salvation is always a post
about trying to burry the church. 
inside the church we eat hard boiled eggs
in all colors. i prefer red. i say aloud,
"this is a heart." this is a heart.
the chicken before the horse. a picture of me
in my mask goes viral. so viral that even
the ghosts are saying, "is that 
really you?" there are too many opportunities
for dialog. let's just sit & be beautiful.
you always know someone is really it 
if they don't have to say a word.
the mask eats my words & spits them out
as butterflies. the bug burn up in the smoke. 

nocturnal 

my night became a tea cup 
& then a sepulchre. everyone was talking
with their underground faces 
& so i took a walk to the edge town
where only worms have music. 
sometimes i wonder if my choice
to walk on the lips of bowls
is a personal one or if the locusts 
chose it for me. there will always be
a rope to jump & a candle.
sleep pours like milk from a hole
in the wall but i don't get anywhere near it.
i don't know why i am so opposed to
the kind of rest dogs partake in.
i guess i am afraid that i will
get so deep i'll wake up a new person.
then again, who doesn't want to be
anyone but themselves when they can't
fall asleep. i am thinking about
night walks on my college campus.
the little white house right
on the other side of the street
with electric candles in the windows.
i would pass & think, "a ghost lives there."
every room a diarama. i would return
to my bed in the house of mice 
& think, "it won't be long
until the street lights start 
exchanging phone numbers." i could
text with a cloud. he might say,
"go ahead. be lonely." i might say,
"i am not lonely i have you."
the night ends up a bouncey ball
then a honey comb. it's sweet. i can tell.
or, at least, someone out there thinks it is.
bites down & tastes gold. 

microchip 

i went to the store to buy the future.
hunger is at least a hole that can
be climbed through unlike another feeling
like dread which just requires cement.
i walk the ghost the family dog
to the dressing room where we try
being a fresh gender for once.
the sun downloads & i upload a picture
of my fury to the clouds. thunder. autumn.
at the grocery store the eggs dance
& say, "prize inside." i don't fall for their tricks.
i know there's just a dead chicken.
flowers for tongues. tongues for a lawn.
there are so many flavors of microchip
these days. my friends are glamor programs.
my friends are artists & gods. 
i wouldn't mind having something inserted 
into the back of my neck if it meant
i could always taste butter cream frosting 
or maybe honey. doesn't it always come back
to the bees? to manna? to a desert 
no one can walk out of. i buy the cheapest kind
because that's what i watched my mom do.
pennies are pennies even if the faces 
vacate & all that's left is copper.
the self check out is attended by dark matter.
i nod & try to make it seem like
i'm not trying to steal a kiwi fruit. 
there's not enough ways to play dumb anymore.
the night has spider legs. 
my mother puts me in the shopping cart
wheels squeaking as we look for lunch meat. 

pot (un)luck 

we slaughtered the sun to eat.
hallelujah hallelujah. but this angered
the telephones who screamed 
as we ate in the verdant darkness
of the emptied moon. we always said
we would stop ourselves & then we were
ourselves. you were devouring
& so i sat & thought, "so should i."
i wish i was better at deciphering
the difference between love & consumption
because in the moment all i am is frenzy
& yes please take my leg & dear god
the screen is bright. we ran & ran 
across the church grounds. the mary statue 
wept blood as it always does. 
the angels set fire to mailboxes.
"i'll call you when i get home,"
i always say & then i never do. i wonder
if this is a spell. if i am then
never home. we said we would all
bring something for dinner. we were
communitying so well until the bus arrived 
full of new sockets to plug our teeth into.
the new planets will be powered
by yearning. there's enough room
in the church for a dinosaur & yet
we leave it empty at night. i no longer
have reverence for empty spaces.
the sun in me promises, "we will
be giants." then, i see the pigeons
& i think, "maybe i should get out 
while i can." when you ask someone else
to bring a feast you will get
all their knuckles too. 
when this is over will you come
& be an individual with me. 
i want to live in a cabin in the middle
of a word. let's pick a word 
like "sonder" where only fellow freaks live.
i do not want to commune or communion.
not now. not anymore. 

family & friends 

let's go to the quarry & have a tradgedy.
no one wants to set something on fire alone
that's just sad. i take my friend ships
& sail them towards the bermuda triangle.
dangerous is a matter of perspective.
sometimes i realize i look like
a boy in a dress & i realize i am dead.
when i say "family" i want people to know
i mean whoever holds me not whoever's blood
makes up my ocean. once, i bleed so much
the moon herself turned vermillion with me.
let's not mistake lust for love & love
for lust. instead, let's revel in 
the twin geminis of the spilled ink night.
i never wanted to be a locket but then
i met you & we drove your car 
until there were no more strip malls.
i took the bull horn & spoke directly to god
to let him know he was not invited to my wedding.
instead, i invite ants & mosquiots &
rats & rabbits & bears. anything humans
are afraid of. i had no where else to go
so my friends opened their mouths &
i ducked inside. learn to watch reflections
in teeth as televisions. then there is
my mother's cast iron pan. she kneels 
& says, "we can stand here for moment
before it's too hot." why is it always
like this? quickly quickly let's love each other. 

trip wire 

does your emergency have a cabinet of coffee mugs?
i step into my panic like a flower show.
all i want is a world without jump rope 
& without a search party. we bought
the best security system on the market
& put a sign on the lawn that read,
"this is where my life begins." lately,
i consider buying a gun i can use 
as a lover. this is because in the united states
it is easier to buy a gun than to 
ask someone on a date. it is easier to buy a gun
than to change your gender. i put my gun
in a stroller & now i am a family value.
if anyone enters who i don't know they will
set off the alarm system & the statue will come
to make a statue of all of us. i do not want to be
remembered in a place like this. i worry then
about setting off my own system. 
i trace the trip wires like veins.
here is the entrance to my caged & caged 
& caged heart. i want to become 
a "no shoes house" but i am always going somewhere
& therefore the house is always full of
footprints. my shoes try to talk to me
but i have to talk to the gun. my emergency 
has a rescue dog & has taken a family photo. has
vacationed by the same blue ocean.
let's no longer be enemies, let's be
origins. i am fearful that i was born 
of urgency. i do not know who i am
without the trip wires & the sirens 
roosting in my head. maybe i was 
a toadstool. a parrot. a pair of sneakers
tossed over a power line. 
the field below full of feral cats. 

fridge magnets 

the morning comes in a take-out container
& in the kitchen the bugs are already planning
what radio signals they want to send
to my head today. when i was little 
our fridge was a worship den.
gods of grapes & milk. we watched 
as everything holy emptied & 
the whale carcass sat in the room
until next week. i want to be proud
of something. once, i went to a bible study class
for a boy i liked. i don't know what i was thinking
but all the men talked over the girls
& they were gushing about how terrible
pride was & all i could think about
was how much more proud i wanted to be
to spite them. i want my life hung
on the fridge of a biblically accurate angel.
with all his/her eyes she/he would say,
"here was someone with an extra face."
now we just have memories as magnets.
your grandfather. fragments of words
often arranged yet again by the bugs.
what i really want is to crawl inside.
how you ever been truly in love with yourself?
i was briefly for the first time this year.
i threw a stone at a mirror
to see it shatter. all my teeth 
in the fragments. i was so beautiful.
even the bugs agreed. i asked,
"does this mean i am free?" they laughed 
& crawled all over the fridge door.
"not so fast," they laughed.

staircase mother

when i came out as trans 
a family member told my mother
that kind of thing is caused
by distant mothers. 
we purchase the oldest tv 
& find a colony of rabbits inside.
only, they are only the size
of thumbs. leave the tv in the yard.
static. mosquitos. gems of blood.
i measure distance in licorice
& my mother has always been 
just a rope away. ants come
& try to eat our bones.
love is not the thing that heals
but the thing that comes
from the healing. 
again my father is
the artist & spends his whole summer
in the yard carving faces into the trees.
i am often in love with objects 
but not in a captialtism-will-make-me-whole
kind of way but more like
this object is alive. haven't you ever seen
a tea cup winking? a garbage bin grimace?
as a child i had so many mothers
& none of them were distant.
the staircase who, when i was alone,
sun like piano teeth. the kitchen table
rife with glorious stains,
promising to give my pig tails.
i am encircled by the dreams
of table saws & cheap paint brushes.
the staircase is taller every single day.
i measure distance in moments 
it would take for us to start
a fire here in the middle
of the house. i would say,
"we need this to survive"
& the microwave would say,
"blessed be" & my mother & i would 
find a song that could be sung
buy both of us by the flames.
our flipbook shadows. my gender 
a pair of scissors to run with.