copper

where were you when the universe told
her green? i was shopping online. rings 
i bought you that gave use halos. radium 
on the ceiling like a balloon child. 
we jumped electric rope. shaved our heads.
lived whole lives as bowling balls. i wound
the sound of baseball bats around your finger.
let's not forget the veins of the house or
the trumpets that fell into the cellar 
while we were busy kissing. pennies in their
bunkbeds getting ready to be unused. i told you
"i wish it was gold." string rays fly over head.  

needle point

i sat in the rocking chair & became an anchoress.
cut threads like veins. the moon was a wooden hoop
pulled taut with clothe. what i am trying to say
is i need a plot of land to sew violets.
i need a window large enough to shatter 
when i throw a rock. i work all night. there is 
a ghost baby in a basinette. he is studying 
gender in the hopes he might get one. dipping needle
in & out of the skin. the clothe. the clothe skin.
there is always an underneath. dolphins beach themselves
& turn into women. i never said this was for you.
i meant only to keep busy. to stave off the curtains. 

wearing black

a flock of crows come to live in my house.
we play chess. we eat popcorn & watch horror movies.
controlled terror is my only comfort these days.
did you hear the police have marble eyes 
they are rolling through the city? i know every stone
is speaking the language of the dead. once you start
wearing black, you do not want to stop. it's an alleviation. 
the crows compliment me & ask if i ever considered
becoming a contract shadow. just for a night, of course.
i say i am staying amateur here. no need 
for perminance. the crows knit me black sweaters
& sew black dresses. soon, we are family in a bright eclipse.

private parts

i wear a fig leaf for a face until
someone notices. thrive on indecency.
i'm all here for public displays of privacy.
the telephone booth. the confessional.
birds are private today & so are stop signs.
has anyone ever told you, you're allowed
to keep parts of yourself away from your lovers?
i think it is important to cultivate mystery.
then again, once i saw a church burn down
for the sake of privacy. there is nothing left
to the imagination in a fire. gone & gone.
trust me, i want to just show you, but i can't.

the swan unzips the beautiful 

out comes a bucket of moths. do you know
we are killing the children? do you know
no one is female anymore? soon there will be
just a great big field of USB drives. 
i once asked my mother why god is a man
& she said "because he creates outwardly."
i sit in a garden of thumb tacs. mirror mirror
on the wall who is the femmest of them all?
the swan is standing with a knife in my bedroom.
i'm going to have to face them soon. 
a round applause for anyone trans wearing a dress. 
the moths have a plan but i do not.

crooked-ing teeth

in my mouth there is a cemetery for beetles.
my teeth wear clogs. my teeth ask
the worst questions like, "why does the sky
taste bitter?" the planet is slowly putting on
a wedding dress. we have lost touch
with ceremony. my teeth sing all night 
& i knock on them saying, "keep it down."
they cannot help it. they are trying to give a warning.
i have watched over the years as they have gotten
more & more crooked. first just a twisted ankle.
now, armless mannequins. it's too late to be pristine.
instead, i smile like a riverbend. the beetles are not dead.

glass 1/2 empty

i'm at the point where 1/2 empty
is dreaming. i look at glasses & i see
clusters of frog eggs. i see their little souls 
full of legs & i wonder if they will live full 
& happy lives or if someone will come along 
& swallow them down. it will not be me. i am too busy 
feeding cheerios to my imagination, saying, "only a few more
years of living like this." the cardboard world
asks me all the questions i can't answer like
"who?" & "how?" the secret is there will
only be one or two frogs. the rest will remain commas.
truly though, the glass is not 1/2 empty, it's just empty. 

coat hanger party

we all came with our favorite regrets.
me with a bundle of door knobs & you with
the coat you refused to wear even though
you looked beautiful in it. it is never
really "tomorrow" is it? it's today & today.
sometimes at a party like this there will be
games. we stand in a circle & try to dream.
everyone can hear me thinking but they are
too polite to say anything. we all choose
a hanger to hold by its feet. i'm told i was
never an infant. we drink punch. we tell stories
of our children. linger until the moon is put away. 

crochet

you told me you wanted a beach house
so i stayed up all night gathering thread.
each of my tongues in their terrarium 
held a dialog about creation. one asked
another, "where does an idea come from?"
i am no longer sure there are bad people.
the hat i make is for a baby i will not have.
it is best to fit all your wanting inside 
a thimble. i have been prone to hooks
crochet & otherwise. it's never enough though.
find me keeping buckets of yearning. yes, i know,
i will need to pour them out. just one more day.

warning: graphic content

your day will have severed. a car
plows through the wall of your heart.
living room smoke detectors. we carve names
in apple tree necks. the bomb shaped
like a lemon. on the side walk we find
salted snails. shelter in place. a tropical storm
named after your ex. she used to stand
in the driveway & scream. it was your fault
but only in the way all rivers have a mouth.
a man with no fingers. slaughterhouse on wheels.
i used to ask, "can i open my eyes?" now, i say,
"good morning, fire."