fuzzy handcuffs

i want to give you all my wrists
in a basket like a bushel of plums.
here is how a body is led to the edge of control.
you swallow the key & say, "now you're mine."
we can gift ourselves. should we gift ourselves? 
i have become an expert at feeding organs to neighbors.
jars of honey, syruped light, sit on the windowsill.
coming apart in symbols. my apples. my spearmint. 
i open mouth. there is a welcome mat there
make your home between my breathes. 
i will give you all the "yes" i have. yes, hold me here.
yes, call me capture. yes, make a relic of me. 

wrong order

we sit in the parking lot of the drive through
& watch cars gallop highway like runaway horses.
they gave you the wrong order & we decide
we're not going back in. instead, we inspect 
the curly fries & triple-stacked burger.
imagine workers' quick hands. disposing another pair
of black rubber gloves. then, the person who ordered this.
how they are speeding away. eyes in the rearer view mirror. 
they think, "i cannot wait till i get home, i need a bite now." 
rifling through a greasy bag just to find our mouths.
strangers. we are so close to eating with one another. 
stoplights on macarthur road chew us on our way home. 

the last bird

i remember when every day flocked
to my porch. walking to catch the train 
i's see schools of pigeons speaking stanzas
to one another. life had headlight then.
when the reports came in about the bird,
some wanted to eat the last bird. others wanted 
to dissect him. him, a small pigeon with iridescent blue feathers 
& a thimble for a heart. he was still alive just standing
on a street corner & reciting poetry.
crowds gathered. feathers fell like snow. 
all businesses stopped & we listened. hanging on each word.
on the morning he disappeared, we wept.   

hardware / software

i put on a stone suite & walk
to the supermarket to buy the ripest bananas.
most night, softshell crabs come knocking on windows.
they say, "have you downloaded the sun today?"
i put a USB drive in my mouth. 
it's full of dirty pictures & tastes like 
hand sanitizer. i want to believe i can 
shapeshift. survive & survive. a deep sea animal
made for the pressures of the endless. 
sadly, i am not. i exoskeleton all night
eating white peaches & calling like a whale. 
i break all my bones. load a video of a bonfire. 

hammock

the one tree says to the other "let's be brothers."
in the canoe, sky becomes a bowl of broth.
bones & bones & bones. a dead heron lays ampersand in water. 
you make coffee & the summer glints, a beetle. 
i think "we could camp out beneath the belly 
of the whale." just me & you & our hungers.
i draw tarot cards for squirrels. the eight of cups. 
walking away. all my backpacks of chalices.
we leave our faces hung on branches & go skinniest dipping.
nothing but teeth & ivy. the hammock asks us if
we plan to be stones. i say, "i do." you say, "tomorrow"
in a voice that means, "i am putting this off." 

saltwater fish

when i learned to breathe i asked
the stones for their permission.
a life is a body of water. i toss my lungs
back like eels. feet in the ocean.
i have been planning to run away for as long
as i can remember. i am a salt water fish. 
my bones thin until all i need to open me is a man 
sitting at the kitchen counter: his mallet & knife. 
he's been waiting to see his reflection in my scales.
fists of water. putting a shell to his face
he finds it swallowed. smoothed elbows
& ancient tongues of the old water. 

kitchen on the moon

i walk to the edge of my yearning.
break bread into smaller & smaller castles.
barefoot as an astronaut, following 
a highway made of ginger. o moon, will you give me 
a refrigerator full? eggs spinning with 
thoughts of feathers. i woke up once in a nest.
mars red through tree branches. why do i always 
try to get far away from myself to feast?
to rest? as if there might be a place i could go
where my body would unpuzzle itself. blood like
a velvet tide. i eat standing at the counter
by the spigot & cutting board. i leave crumbs.  

on estrangement 

on holidays, i sleep in the extra space ship.
it is my fault the house is full of forks.
for so long i tried to live on different moons.
one had a frozen ocean. another had star-eyed fish.
the last was desolate except for a pile
of broken picture frames. they were empty. 
don't worry though, the space ship doesn't work.
not any more. it is just a lovely place to plant
your teeth & wait for them to become roses.
tell me, who has grown you roses? i am waiting.
last week a friend asked me, "what is rest to you?"
i said, "not thinking of what comes next."

paper submarine

i keep saying "this is going to be okay"
when the water is saying, "you are
a dead boy." i found the ocean 
like a fist. bruises it gives me. fish in the deep 
with eyes made of light bulbs. i thought
i knew how to dive, to swim. ignored every ship wreck. 
sometimes we think we can will the truth. 
i am not drowning. i am not drowning. water pressure.
weight of all the planets. their boney shoulders.
i am not just trying to put out a fire.
opening my mouth. fingers trying to find my gills.
the vessel is not a vessel. it is an unsound bridge.

leaky ceiling

in the abandoned house off main street
i found my wild knowing. bird beaks
kalideoscoped. chandelier in my chest. spearmint bush
bursting through floorboards. 
everything has jagged edges when you are fifteen.
doorways chew you pink. i would sleep with my eyes open, 
waiting for a flock to come & scoop out my tongue. 
this is a hymn for those who arrive to empty places. 
hallway of blackberries. i plucked door knobs from my manias. 
rolled them down the hallway. i'd think, "does anyone else
hear the moon turning over?" 
no? only me?