the spoon archive

i remember when i lifted myself to your lips
inside a wooden ladel. tonight, i put the sun
& the moon in a blender. drink contradiction.
hope to fall in love again. here is the spoon
i used to burry my faith in rebirth.
here is the hole in the yard that leads 
to a colony of silver. with the smallest spoon
i once had a friend scoop out my pupil
to be used as a scrying mirror. i thought
if i could not see the throat of the monster, 
i could survive. wrong wrong wrong. find my skeleton 
in the yard. i could unearth it but i don't. i leave it. 

remote control

the bees nest television 
is full of breaking news. basinettes 
for microphones. i no longer talk into mirrors. 
there are dolls in the control room
on the other side. when i say someone is always watching 
i mean the refridgerator is a garden of eyes. 
blink three times if you can hear me. 
when my hand moves without instructions
i pretend i am a puppet for an audience of piranhas. 
click a button & the road kill deer comes back to life. 
another rerun. i tell the bones, "let's try this again." 
they turn static & i get bored of it all.

fur coat

i want to disbelieve in scarcity
but it is all i know. my body, a maze 
of learned urgencies. tomorrow there will be no more
& today there is a lack of. i find a cow.
ask her for her hide. i promise to pay her back. 
the pasture is covered with ghost birds. everyone needs 
a new skin this year what with the fire
& frost & alarms. i put on my hooves to leap fences.
i will run until i reach eden. there, eat apples until i am dead. 
there is a chance i am wearing your life as a garden. 
when i am done, we can be brothers again.
for now, i understand if you need to haunt me. 

a history of loneliness

at our old house with wasps in the walls 
& thunder storms in its hair 
i would go to the cool concrete basement 
with a handful of french fries to feed the mice. 
our little secret. salt grains on my fingers. 
mice came child-like. soft-footed. fearful.
blackberry jewel eyes. i called them friends. 
they came to trust me. sitting near my bare feet 
as i brought a new morsel each day. sunflower seeds &
pineapple & blueberries. tiny pink tongues. 
at first, they just darted away, food in mouth. 
but they learned to linger with me there.

dollar store glasses

it was always fishtank season. i talked to our pennies 
until they they grew papery wings. fly away.
as a kid i saw the world like a monet painting.
bud & blurr & blossom. running through
a field of scissors & emerging with my skin
cut into ribbons. i felt every cough brambles made.
stroked moss on backs of trees. all fours. 
closed my eyes & tried to meditate but instead
gossiped with butterflies. after the woods,
my brother & i would go to dollar tree to try to see clearly.
put reading glasses on & squinted at plastic statues
of parrots & pirates. we never purchased a pair. 

stone's throw

i learned to measure distances between us
with fury. how a fist becomes 
a landmark. give me all the quartz
& i'll find the mirror where i am 
a butterfly-faced boy. my father told me
to go out into the forest & find a rock
worthy of his mouth. i searched for years.
found sea shells & squirrel skulls.
all the while he picked his teeth 
with wintergreen wood. i would day dream
of our reunion. his embrace like greeting 
a mountain. shoulders & shoulders & avalanche.

broth

i took bones of the dirt 
& water-plunged them in the rusted bottom pot.
hunger is a mouth discovered & burried. 
inside, my own bones dwindled. novembering forest. 
i learned to live on glances of fruit. red apple. tongue
of my eyes. steam from boil. carrot legs
& celery jaws & onion knuckles. we made broth
on sundays when fate had less fingers. i thought
of boiling myself. how sweet & melancholy.
wooden spoon dreaming itself back into a tree. 
this is a fantasy of return. to air. to water.  
drinking a spoonful. warmth ascending until i am roots again.

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.