soon & never arrivals 

on the morning the street outside turned to glass
i was in a hurry to become less filament & more
fur. i had been in the backyard collecting
ivy from the side of the apartment building.
birds were making fun of me for my round face
& the single feather that sprouts & resprouts 
from my back. i never meant to be a hybrid animal.
i always thought i could be a fabulous hair dresser
or at least a hammer-boy. cars slid past like magic tricks
towards the river. a man walked around placing
"fragile" stickers all over the ground. no one
heeded their warning. engines spun & people still
insisted on going where they'd intended to go:
groceries & funerals & kissing booths & fountains
& the city. meanwhile, i waited & watched 
from my porch. saw my warped reflection in 
the newly glass road & saw as cars moved across
my old face. how had i become such a vigil-keeper?
where was my leopard print coat? 
i felt no impulse to join the falling. cars plopping 
into the river-water one by one. on glass,
they could not turn away. fed themselves 
to the rocks & the rush. they each left a mirror version
still driving on the road without material.
i considered shedding my skin once & for all.
i could just live in mirrors & windows. 
be the animal i had always wanted to be: thin 
& indiscoverable & always observing.
when had my feet served me anyway? yet, i held on
to the thought maybe one day the road 
would be asphalt again. sturdy. no duplicate
looking back at me & i could follow it 
over the river & towards another town & another.
could still make a phelogeny in my body
if i tried hard enough. i would pause at the bridge 
to listen for the ghost cars & their impulse to arrive. 
do you ever check your reflection is stil yourself? 
i held my hand up & my glass road figure did as well. 
blew him a kiss & watched another vehicle leak past
& then men on their backs, sliding, gazing dreamily up
at the lightbulb sun. i plucked out my feather 
& dropped it to the ground to be swept past 
with all the other arriving. 

what will you be for halloween?

i have been sewing shadows together
all winter. pried from the backs of
strangers: a december bird, a frozen birch,
a bundled man passing 
on his twig-like bicycle. one deep shadow
from the apartment building
cut free with only my craft scissors.
i'm trying to make do with the supplies
around me. i lick my thumb to stick 
my horns on each night & sometimes,
for my fangs, i just take a pencil sharpner 
to each canine. they're always dulling.
i don't know what i am yet or what
i will be for the remaining dead days.
ghost neighbors light little fires all across
the back of the mountain. smoke blows upwards
like grey veils. each stiched shadow 
gives the costume a new shape. 
i could be a broken house
or a crooked hand or a february 
too thick with loneliness or a leaf 
holding on by its neck. that's the thing
about shadows. they give away everything
& nothing. when i scrape off my own
it always comes back--more jagged each time.
sharper edges. angrier lines. i'm becoming
something else each morning as i work.
see my outline swell & shrink.
a breathing beast. where will i go
with my new design? whose house
will still have a door next year?
in the woods there is the ruins 
of an old structure. walls of stacked stone
& a  skull-nose entrance. i could
go there with my body & rattle
my soul & see what arrives. i haven't seen
sugar for a long time. it's going to snow
tonight & i pray for mistakes of nature.
a layer of sweet crystal. blued shadows
to pluck from the white. 

apocolypse singing on the orange-blinking road 

we took our ostriches
down to nowhere. their eyes 
like marbel dungeons & their 
foot prints dinosaur-fossiling 
across the last boulevard. gravel & 
gear & grim evening. trees like 
monkey's paws. sachels full of soda tabs. 
we didn't think we would survive the ice zone
or the lily waste. took no time
feeling thankful & just kept knuckling. 
our dogs with their snake faces tasting 
citrus in the air or morsels. i could use
a morsel. something dark & lime.
someone sings just beyond sight.
a kind of monsterous singing--
loud like a pipe organ & we are both
made young & church-bound again.
your face stain-glasses over. 
you stand still like a grave marker. 
your bird shaking you off her back. 
i'll soon have to leave you. 
the red all road. the road all red.
i have nothing left to move towards
but vibration & lichen feathers. you were
a good traveler too but in this landscape 
face is made shatterable by simply 
the wrong memory. we used to eat from the hands 
of elephant men. we used to trust
even the ankles of passing shadow-throwers
& now here we are with our lists
of departures. you don't even speak
my name. i knock on your collar bone
& it sounds wooden as a front door.
nothing said nothing lost. my tongue 
twists like a barbershop poll. lingering
is what kills you but also what
makes you real. without lingering
what am i but a bouquet of steps?
the singing softens. think nothing
of boy-girlhood or its velvets.
i was never anything & neither were you. 

frankenstein 

i stiched three birds together
to make a flock. licked the thread
before i slipped through the needle's head.
everything is a tight window. 
in my shop, i consider blood 
& how to adhere one bone to another.
taxidermied a six legged chicken 
& watched it scurry through my dusk-thoughts.
each day, in the nearby woods i'm watching 
a sapling challenge the adjacent trees.
i hold my arm up to a bright lamp
to see my blue veins like tree roots.
lay in the sun & dream of giving myself
a pair of feathered wings. i need 
a lover to place them though. someone
with a steady hand. someone else 
who thinks of the hem between bodies 
& souls. someone else who believes blood
should flow like rivers. i practice
on myself sometimes. i take a button
& sew it into my chest. little useless thing.
in the graveyard, everyone is 
reduced to material. i go with my trow
& my bucket to search for new parts.
dirt smudged knees. do you judge me?
we are all making do. what i create 
is already there. if you place your arm
next mine i'll show you
were the veins could mesh. underneath
the forest trees roots nudge 
& wrap around one another. a catelog
of twist ankles. this is only natural
to want to make breathing piecemeal.
a thread of thunder also resembles 
a bright root. my veins run skyward.
i'm spreading the system. the flock flies.
all three heads scream. dissapears
into the woods. i'll let you see
my scissors. i'll let you touch 
the needle. just a needle nothing more
& soon the body will rise. taller than
the sapling. lungs like wings.
heart like a windup toy. we will talk
for hours in the basement. 
i'll teach him to hold 
the needle steady. here are where
i want my wings. here is the roof
i need to spring from. 

spider plants

we know very little about ourselves.
proliferating, the spider plant
carries her offspring by green nooses
as they dangle below her waist.
i had a friend who cultivated them.
as girls, we'd sit on her porch late june 
as she carefully removed the infants 
& repotted each. soon they would have newborns
& so on & so on. our humid faces sweat-blinking 
in the midday swelter. our own repotting,
happening beneath each fingernail & between
each tooth. that morning, taking my heart
& watching it multiply, waiting for it 
to rest in between divisions. we have 
so many yearnings to keep track of. 
in the mirror, fog blurred every past self 
i'd ever had to preen. my friend, she'd looked at me 
with eyes full of spiders. the extra legs
we manage in the dark. our dissapointments.
the failures of our knuckles. she was 
a dancer & i always wished i could be one.
kept her ballet shoes hung on the front doorknob
& they clopped like horse hooves. 
the porch overflowed with lineage.
she said she didn't have enough. she wondered
if she'd ever be able to stop. just a joke.
pinched the neck of another & plucked
the daughter free. i wished plants
could speek. i would have asked 
if they knew how we felt--if they could see
the selves i was growing. if i was
green enough to make it. she gave me one
to take home. i set the spider plant
on my windowsill & it died 
not much later. i try to avoid
holding funerals for desires but 
for the spider plant i dug a hole
beneath the pine tree. laid its skeleton
to rest. root cementry.
said farewell to its spreading.
cupped one of my new hearts 
& fed it nothing but water.

i'm staring at the sun & letting my eyes go egg/yolk

ooze like a shatter. all over 
the uv. once the atmosphere was held
together by staples & now we have glint.
a joint gouging. no one blinking 
for the moon. the right boy
isn't waiting. the right tower
was already built. now we just have
to feel for it. if you were really coming
you would have written your name 
in the sky. i take all the blue & stuff it down.
i wanted your empty leach. i wanted 
the last segments of sweat. summer sister
what are you doing to survive the cold? 
no more more moritician music, just 
a siren etching itself into the screen door.
i set my teeth out on the counter
one by one like guns. once, i took 
a picture of the sun & i saw your face
in the glare. freckles & all.
i am in the process of multipying.
soon there will be enough spiders
to go around. take a tape measure 
& trace the distance between here & 
there. find the sun is getting closer.
knocking on the back door. you never disclosed
where you live. who is going
to water the puppets? who is going to teach
the babies how to evaporate?
never mind all of that. 
you were supposed to be a great
at trickling down the side of
any given planet. i collect you
in several beer glasses. amber as 
the afternoon. sun swallowing 
greedy doorknobs. when we are new
i want to take you on a trip to 
my favorite soup bowl. look down
in the broth & see our faces.

perennial 

your face was like the orange potted mum
i bought & cradled home from the farmer's market.
buckled in the backseat like a fresh infant.
mine mine mine. i peered between your winks
& your bones. i wanted to follow 
every inch of your green.
yellow flower irises. all your necks.
i was its lover & i left the plant
out on the porch.  
the breeze rummaged in our october sadness. 
i knew you were unloving me
but kept tracing the season: corn husks 
& drunk apples & mums.
a pair of keys. a missing tooth.
dead leaves sticking to the backs
of our legs. i wanted nothing more
than a porch to decorate or a pumpkin 
to wear as a skull. the mums
made fists & knocked
on the screen door. the mums
laughed at innapropriate moments.
hurt your feelings & stole your tooth brush.
open palm, i would come outside
to stroke the plant like how
i used to caress your cheek.
i couldn't help but think of "mum"
& "mother." our mothers hovering
over us like skeletal trees. i sent you
a postcard from up the hall saying 
"we should take a walk." 
you were always the better seer,
could witness a bee disrobing
or the last leaf dropping 
from the yard maple. me, i distract myself.
i started conversations with different
flowers in the mum nest. i held your hand
& he ambled through a year or more.
took our shoes off & planted them
in the hardening winter soil.
alone, i pluck flowers from the bush
& pocket them. you pry bark
from a dead tree i cannot see. 
gone but my love pangs are perennial.
again & again. your knuckles
& the mums still sitting here
with their teeth clenched. ready to sob.
gone now too. just the black plastic pot
tipped over on its forehead.
your mother, my mother still
looming like a lost promise.
do you miss me this time of year?

animals who lie like i want to

i watch the earthworms promise
winter is almost over. they are frozen
like hyphens all across the driveway.
january is a jungle of yearning.
i discover two house centipedes 
who both claim to have found god.
crazy with salvation they 
run the walls. their legs multiply.
i kill one & the other believes
it was just part of god's plan. hides himself 
& prays a miniature rosary.
the songbirds tell everyone who walks by
soon you'll be a new person.
i don't know if that's even what i need.
often times "new" just just a synonym 
for "extract." extract this person
who i have been living. i met 
a cow in the pasture & she was 
making convenants with the color green.
she assured me i would live a year longer
than i think i will. i know three people
who died last month but they don't really
seem dead. once i slept with a boy
whose cat tried to pass me
a fertility pamphlet & explained i would
make a good mother. i thanked him
& folded the glossy paper tight. i would be
so afraid of having someone depend on me.
already, the insects in my home
depend on me for stories & scraps.
if i could lie like them i would
convince myself that i am only 
just begining--that i have plenty
of time to come undone. one finger
& one strand of hair at a time.
i miss the way my heart used to cry water
& how the birds used to feed me in my sleep. 
i have it good though.
i have two lungs & sometimes a bathtub 
& sometimes i eat with my hands 
when no one is looking. a crow
tells me i will find love soon.
i tell the crow to show me where
& he flies off into the clouds.
i cross my legs. i collect feathers
for the future. i carry close
every prophecy, especially 
the ones that are false.

the ulcers in my mouth become portals 

where are you widening? 
i'm no stranger to stigmata 
& other blights. root with my tongue
in the reeds. you kissed me 
like a jungle flower. i'm a collage 
of sting. i don't want to be sewn back up.
i want to follow the openings 
until there's no more tunnel 
or till. sharp red gum. i am chewing
on the length of our hearts.
i want to know how 
much sadness a throat can burrow 
& how long we are going to wait
for the next pair of teeth.
i am missing every once-flat skin 
where we used to take our biting.
&, like a bird feeder, you parcel 
yourself into like coins. 
the trick is to tell the portal
you can't be gone very long.
i disspear into my own skin.
water & worry. we could have been
gate-cutters. we could still 
etch fences on each other's backs.
i want you to be a scissor holder
or at least the knife you search for
in the dim kitchen's light.
i open my mouth for you to see
& the light shines through
all the holes. my perferated 
cheese grater skull. little disco light.
dance myself a new face & you will
crowd-find me & think i'm a new devil. 
in my dreams, i take you 
onto my tongue 
& you sticky-note flicker.
i want to tell you 
what you shouldn't know. here are
all my pockets. look quickly 
they're each getting deeper.

fifth grader 

ducklings grew like dandelions
in the courtyard, contagious as each year.
their egg-selves still vibrating 
like dead moons. amoung them,
we felt like prophets. fifth graders
with ripe knees & knotted hair.
they darted. hid inside our steepeld fingers.
we took turns watching them. their mother,
like any good blouse, screamed & screamed
about the windows & the sun. nearby
the saucony river turned fabric
in the april laughter. i touched 
the torses of trees like the hems 
of skirts. i tried to read books & gave up,
let them turn back into nestlings. 
mothers pushed children from branches.
i fly briefly from the attic
to the front yard & determined
it would be best to stay yellowing 
as long as i could. duck bills brimmed
over the foreheads of buildings.
in gym class we ran laps around the school
& i dreamed of the ducklings asleep
like hot pockets. eventually they got
too old to keep. their legs turned grey.
their eyes sharpened. they argued
with their mother & the janitors who tried
in vain to teach them how to be children.
in life some is always teaching someone else
who is the child. in the rivers
the ducks shed their duck faces 
& never looked back. daffodils squawked.
the macadem spat rubber balls 
back at us. we played & checked
behind our ears for down feather.
at home, i checked my mother
for webbed feet & hands. i took my age 
& held it until it turned smooth 
as river rock. the ducklings swelled
large as obelisks. i could barely sleep
they were so big. i got older though
& the school dissolved. i found yellow
in the strangest places.
now, i want to be someone's child.
i can be as soft as you want. i can tell you 
where the last feathers went.