heaven arcade 

use your dim devotion joy stick 
to take me across your pixel.
everyone at their own 
autographed machine.
i have been waiting 
for my soul to seep out 
like tea in hot graphics card water.
i've been staring up 
at the big night screen
looking for loot.
i was a token maker in the end times
& my pocket heavy with attempts 
at running across the river styx. 
play me the original version 
& i'll hold down the "run" button.
"press me" bloomed red on your back
& i never mentioned just
resisted the urge to touch. 
manna will be delivered via
slot in the staircase.
another life waiting 
at the buckle. little self
with its hands pressed together
in prayer. i heard that 
in the fountain 
you can fish for your own face
& find another round. 
play again & again. take the
both photo with a silly face.
five-hundred points to go 
for the real sliver swords.
another thousand & you could
achieve the plastic boat.
ride it home where nothing 
is electic at all. your feet 
ask too many questions. this is just
another movement mechanism.
lights flash as they come 
like collisions. a mallet
to keep the fathers 
in their silos. one more game
before salvation. 
take off your shoes 
to go in the ball pit.
one huge sphere to converse with.
your forehead frayed
with all the after-ing.
who is going to unplug 
the engine when it inevitably 
overheats with all the joy litter.
reboot in the process 
of saving foot step. take it back
before you can remember 
the neccessary puzzle pattern.
god in his boss stage
no taking visitors. starting
once again in the false green.
a ring twirling 
like an unwearable halo.
extend one more time.
cloud glitch & your buggy shoes.
let's walk down 
to the invisible edge
& sing. 

hesitation

i fill the bath tub with dead light bulbs.
then the sinks & then the closets. 
can't throw them out for fear of they'll 
tattle on me & my ceilings.
even the most durable bulbs don't last long
in the thunder of my door frames. i am 
a dark corridor in the shadow of 
the mountain. at night i leave 
all the switches open to ward off
wayward monsters who drag their tails
down my street at night. someone is home
someone is home, i say under my breath.
light bulbs are grown in a green house 
or bloomed naturally along super highways.
i only get the best. ripe with 
headlight & engine. i have forgotten
what the rooms look like in the dark.
i don't let it happen. take a bath
in the historical bright. a flickering 
hallway. in & out if time. the monsters 
are prone to stealing lamp posts, uproot
a whole stalk & lug it into the trees.
i change light bulbs even in the sun
just to be safe. cup bulbs in my hands
& give them a gentle little shake.
i imagine a city for my dead. streets of
filament & skull. a light coming 
from a patient never waning moon.
at best, i am tipsy as light bulb 
on a rec room floor. i dance
with the dead. i dip my hands 
in shatter. socket after socket.
re-screwing in my head & waiting 
for the glow. another one out almost
as quick as i lodged it. beautiful 
like liar fire. you did your very best
in this hollow. my apartment used to be
on the third floor & now it is 
below the earth. o plumetting life. 
a sacket full of tomorrows. a bulb
a day keeps the surgeon away.
my head throbbing with volume.
how would you like to be lit?
from the front? from the back?
lamp cranes his neck down
to meet me. blinks like a child
before going dim & gone. 

college tour

she points to a brick building
& says "that's where they keep monkeys 
for research." the campus is very green
& too pamphlet to be touched.
the tour guide has perfect skin
& walks backwards. i imagine the distance
from here to home & from home
to my boyfriend's mouth. when you're
eighteen every moment is a string
of gaps you want to close or widen.
holding a folder close to my chest.
i wear a flower crown. a blue dress. 
girl girl
girl. the tour guide speaks
in numbers & ratios: roomates 
& meals & stairs & credits &
teacher:student & student:window.
i think of the monkeys as we walk 
the small lush campus. monekys 
in their own little dorms. 
i want to ask  
"what kind of monkeys?" 
"how did they get here?"
"are they happy?" "why do you need
monkeys for research?" living
subjects. their wrinkled knuckles.
we trade SAT scores & she tells me
to take a prep class i know
we can't afford but i nod
& say "yes." my flip flop
keeps breaking but i just slide 
it forward on the sidewalk.
early decision. yes. early 
decision. the monkeys
maybe sleeping this early
along with the students all 
honeycombed away. my dry elbows.
her glowing face. 
in the admissions office 
i pluck more pamphlets 
from the wall because i'm not sure 
what else to do with my hands 
while i wait. 
none of the pamphlets mention 
the monkeys. before my short interview
i listen to a mom coaching
her son for his. she says,
"make sure to talk about
the africa mission trip. make sure
to talk about AP classes."
in my own all i can think about
are the monkeys. what do 
their cages look like?
who is tending them right now?
we talk about the great gatsby.
i try desperately to sound smart
& to look like someone else--
someone not from a gravel road 
with a wonky mailbox. i smile
to hide my crooked tombstone teeth. 
after, i wait in the parking lot
for mom to pick me up.
it is september & autumn 
still seems impossible. my bare
shoulders. the backs of
my knees. campus trees hushing
in the wind. needing to leave
as soon as i could-- the campus
unbearably real as college students
walked to the dining hall 
& sat on the green lawn
& monkeys thrummed somewhere
in a building's belly like secrets. 

rabbit houses

i wasn't ready to be eaten 
but you were.
the house glowed like a bow 
of legs. i thought of being 
a soft tennis ball
rolling in the grass. 
the mother machine 
with her chattering teeth.
you were timid as they come
with your face always averted
from the trough. what is hay
but a rope to hold
into the next day. i told you
we should find a home elsewhere.
out in the woods where
the real rabbits practice witchcraft 
& worship moss. 
you shook your head
& laid down like a sofa.
wire wall. we saw the humans 
in their morning rituals.
their pressed hands & their 
headlight monsters. 
putting their faces on one 
at a time until they were 
a whole laughter. a tunnel 
under the home. a ladder into 
a tree. anything. we could
evaporate 
& become our favorite clouds:
you the feathery ones & me
the thick potato-gut ones.
you said you knew 
too much about meat & 
that you were curious 
about thighs. every house
is the same. there is one 
who wants to depart 
& one who wants
to be part of the process.
the houses are lined up
in a row. i would wave
to the other rabbits 
but they would pretend not to see.
sometimes it is easier to be
just one house instead
of a row. you said you prayed
to be taken next. in a next life
you believed you would be
a shoe maker or a chimney sweep.
so, in the night i slipped away.
i didn't stop until the sillos 
were pills in the distance.
the forest thickened like 
a scab. green green green. 
i looked for a rabbit house.
there had to be one. 
where there are rabbits 
there are sure to be nice enclosures.
a bowl of water. a paw's worth of feed.
nothing but dripping leaves.
deeper & deeper the forest turned
to wire. my hair down to 
my waist. my fingers long 
as sapling arms. then, fur falling out
in clumps. then, naked in the brush.
not ghost quite. not tetter or trip. 
paws turned finger & palm.
the trees coiled to curtain rode hooks 
& all the windows came alive again.
trees sitting outside. my rooted children.
then, the rabbit houses in their rows.
empty & staring back at me.
waiting for a visit from my spine.
need to build more in case 
they come. you can never have enough
rabbit houses. 

proximity 

i chose the wrong template. 
meant "stay here" & said "go anywhere."
my beautiful box  
began in the nowhere forests 
where only trees know how to fastfood 
& all neighbors do is search 
with their metal detectors for baby shoes. 
each day the little home moved.
at first it was not noticeable.
just an inch or two that added up 
over months. built a fence
& the walls slowly pushed it flat.
tied a piece of pink yarn to my ankle
when i left so i could find 
my way back. you sent me letters
that arrived by drone. the letters
were always blank but i cherished them.
someone can say how they love you
with their absences. invisible ink
is also a possibility. when were you
coming to visit? i would ask but had
no return address. the house was 
restless though & took 
longer & longer leaps. one morning
i woke up to the deserts lavender sweat
& another day, at the bottom of a lake
i peered out the window &
counted fish hooks. 
every time i am careful 
to forgive my house. 
press hand to bathroom tiles 
& say "you're doing your best."
is everyone doing their best?
no like productivity but
proximity. 
i can't remember the last time
we were within walking distance
when i could, with a paper airplane,
reach you with everything crucial.
next day: a carnival beach. next day:
a sad pennsylvanian strip-mall lined highway.
no messages from others & i start
to wonder if your walls do this too.
one day i wake up to the sound
of the train that used to rattle past
our apartment in mineola.
i bolt up & run to the tracks
incase you are coming back
from an airport. incase there is 
a man waiting there for me.
i go & no one at all gets off the train.
by the time i return the house has
moved on without me. all the telephones
tell me, "i'm sorry" & then go dull.
if you hear this message, lover,
will you keep an eye out for my bed?
if you see it roaming will you
try to call me? i know the odds
of catching such a thing are slim.
i slip my hope in ziploc bags
press the air out & pocket them.
touch my finger to where
the house used to lonely vibrate. 
can i come visit you? can you come
find me? i am in need
of a great re-introduction.
name me something new. cut off my hair.
i'll do anything. 

hands & knees 

the clothe tunnel was crimson 
& necessary catastrophe. cut it with 
craft scissors unfit for skin
into the wall made for averting.
i craved the close & the throat way.
followed it down into the belly
of your glass. how does a boy
descend into cupboard 
without a knife in their pocket?
my knife had a mind if its own 
& carved my name in every single stair.
knee to node & hand to heiroglyph. 
the tunnel (like a trap) is promising
another field of light bulbs.
a glow like i've never heard.
the fire escape is concrete 
& not meant for kissing but 
we could if you wanted to.
under the surface i'm always
the wrong boat. the other entity 
is shaking & sending me back 
in the box i came in. so, i said
i have a tunnel & i'm going
away away for no more judgements 
& inventory. i'm going to a 
depth made of whale hearts 
& gay longing. i left my finger nails
at the door & made a halo from
dry pasta. the into is the best part.
i have no need for the actual elsewhere
just give me the widest passage
& i can learn home in that crossing.
hampster tube from gender to gender.
run my hands across the wall.
a pipe is a system of arrival 
& i intend to misuse it for dwelling.
sew covers to mimic dead ends.
i live between over & almost.
feathers blow past one day 
& i grasp one. tastes like
truth serum & i confess to
wanting a bed frame & a bird cage. 
just the frame. just the cage.
i can feel my whole family watching tv
& having very little thoughts about it.
if only they had a tunnel 
like mine where only 
rats have CD players 
& only i am headed towards
a stoplight. clean the tunnel.
keep it company. one day it'll 
cough me up in a hydrangea bush.
the butterflies will be bigger
than my head & we'll drink
red licorice milk & weep.  

jars

all winter, we ate nothing but black berry jam 
until our teeth turned spider-eyes
in the sugar. the sweet shadow. 
a dead cathedral grew in the yard.
we called it's silhoutte a paragraph.
the high chair filled with baby boil
& a cry slithering down our throats.
the infant oil sleepy even in his-her distress.
i wasn't the father & neither were you.
that happens sometimes babies just
arrive hungry & fading. would be
a spearmint bush soon enough but 
the interim was almost unbareable.
once, we were both chances. someone
chose us over green bright leaves.
often i wish i were the rustle & root.
none of us remembered flavors besides
sharp & sour & sting. paring knife
to pocket. show me what you have. show me
what you have. just a single peanut.
plundered each other's hiding places
always coming up empty handed. 
i hoped you would be bold enough
to keep a secret from me but instead
just more jam jars. we washed the jars out
in the bath tub & stacked them 
like future terraruims on the sink.
i pictured them full of fish eggs
ready to wriggle open. the ocean 
had a fever & all the animals 
were testing out land & just freezing.
shark hanging in the air all december
while we had our morning black berry.
it seemed like the world was 
warping in the congradulations kind of way.
the hat hooks drooped & so we tucked
our caps under our arms as we
plucked along the day. nothing to do
but tell the snow to hurry
& try imagine something else 
besides blackberry to plant next year.
something like iron or ivy 
or even tea pots to make chicken.
it is so hard to prepare 
for what you don't know is coming.
if i would have known winter was 
going to thud like this i would have
asked you to can tomatoes instead. 
i couldn't handle another day.
the spoon. the sugar. taking pictures
of the dangling reef. more jam. 
the pop-kiss of an open lid.
you standing on the stairs
& saying "was i going up
or down?"

judas

took turns being the deserter.
handing each other over to
the big gaping myriad 
with his mouth
all pitchfork & drum. 
traded the bad bad around
until all of us had experience
with betrayal. in the zoo 
there were no curtains for hiding
dinnering. faces in pots of rice.
nothing to do with knees 
or remorse. we just had to know
who was capable of the shove 
& who was just never going to grind.
on the back porch i knit
crowns of thorns till my fingers
juice box bled. a pool party 
for dead frogs at the neighbor ritual.
how come no one has anything to say 
about victory anymore? how it is
actually quit easy to scoop
from another's tongue
if you turn him over to
stray dog-light. butter in 
the oven golding to glow.
washing each others feet 
in messiah mimicry. toes like
tulip buds. i could have been
any martyr but instead i chose
waking up every day to tend
the robot sheep & ward off wolves
with a wooden stick. if i could go back
i'd tell my fragment self 
"don't let anyone disciple you 
into limping." kneeling down
in their bareness i can tell
i won't last long. it's a game
of who is the loudest finger
snapped then gone. i want to be 
the forehead maker. the police
sniffing porches for word.
God with his head farther 
& farther in the clouds,
has no idea at all. 
pray with the old machine 
just to tell him
i am the terrible child 
with a catelog of uncertainties.
if there really is a savior
i hope he's not me. i have nothing
to execute but damage & drain.
boys coming back around.
whose turn it is to 
bite the prophet like 
a bedsheet?

bee eating

hive in the freezer.
quiet blurring wing. drawer of 
teaspoon. where do you put
the bad planets? teeth in a suitecase.
no where to doggie paddle.
a basinette for the brother feet.
bee eating by the favorite statue.
stuffed face. stuffed cheeks.
thrum in summer. thumb in winter.
i have nothing to say about
insect legs. trading glups
of little bird faces. we were
always too hungry to be saved.
no the honey. we needed 
a swallow of sources. 
twenty-five rotations around
the round-about. wheels
stacked high in the closet.
no nightmare video for sharing.
mud rooms upon mud rooms. we just
could have been more tactful
about how much we admit to
in front of the children.
the hive in the fridge
wants answers. frozen queen 
with her bullet children.
could we go to the market
& maybe even find a parcel of men?
just enough to get us through
the limb-burning months?
anything is almost over
if you close your eyes 
& bear down. or is it bare down?
why should i admit anything.
it's all on footage. roll it back.
bee eating in the coffin
with the salad fork. set 
the coffin on the desk top
for a rainy slice. bee eating
in the cupboard where no one else
can get jealous of the hum hum.
teeth to carapice. nothing else
but mustard in the oven.
when i grow my wings
it's all over. it's really 
all over. come lay down 
& wait for the window to open
with me. it's only a matter of years.
i'll pass you a bee.
put it under your tongue.
don't bite down. not yet. 

harvest mice

in the flower home we were unsafe
but at least pollen-powdered
& young. you ran across
a wheat stalk & i made myself
into a sphere. in the dark 
murmur of night i would ask you
what you craved to coil inside.
your answer was always different.
"tennis ball" "dandelion face"
but once you said "a heart."
a breeze blew across the field
making all the trees in the distance
nod in agreement. i didn't ask 
anything else but instead pictured you
inside the chest of a huge animal:
a cat or even a horse.
you'd be so small 
he wouldn't even notice.
warm inside blood, leaving that cove
only for grain. would you miss me
in that red wonderful heart
or did you mean you'd take me with you? 
more often than not i wish you were
a bigger beast so that i could be
the heart-dweller & you the heart.
i wouldn't mind
being seed-sized if it didn't mean 
i am always the comma. a clip 
in the whole tumble of hair.
what are the secrets 
the more substantial animals 
are keeping from us? 
when we nest i think of nothing
but possible destructions.
an ankle could undo days
of weaving & yet we have to--
have to imagine the circle
clutching us. make the loose heart
to dwell inside. sometimes i picture
the whole world as one great beast.
this field merely a patch of shoulder.
every would be small then.
almost as small as us.