periscope

i wanted to pay for a pair of your eyes.
my quarters all winked with worry.
where can i dig the bird from?
here is the mountain getting up
& leaving each night. a hollow
in his place. i used to stare
into your eyes like cisterns. 
dropped quarters down them while 
you slept. make a wish on
your lover's bones. the dinosaurs
stir in their oil & gossip
about scraping a hole in the blue.
when a color inverts it becomes
a dream suit. i am wearing
this cloud like a robe. the horses
are lost with no intention 
of pulling the meteor back home.
follow me soon, i'll teach you
how to retrace the horizon line
when it blurs from so much use.
once i had a brother & we'd eat
ripe melon on the curbside 
of a dead tree. i used to bleed
so much i thought i was 
supposed to be the next ocean.
when the mountains come back
we never ask where they've gone
out of politeness though we'll
always wonder. what are your theories?
i think they go to stare 
at their own private television
where they can see erosion
on other planets. i find a quarter
on the sidewalk & use it 
for a future view. green will soon
betrayal us again. my trust
is watery & new. i left my shoes
in another lifetime so here
i walk on foot prints. savor 
the grass's itch. knit
the mountains their sweaters
& keep a casket of feathers
just in case. i'm holding
onto the glimpse until it hardens.
turns opal & fluorescent. 

i stole my dad's jeep

i stole my dad's jeep & drove
through the mountains.
the gas pedals were turtle shells 
& an angel goaded my forward.
dad used to tell me 
jeep's headlights
are either circles or squares.
his were squares cutting 
right angles in the dark as we searched
for my daughter ghost. 
he clutched a net. butterflies
broke open around the corner.
we gave up after years 
of travel. the fossils of a former life
muttering secret in my scalp.
i knew where i was going.
rusting sidewalk & turnip white moon.
i ate pudding from a cup holder
& drank from a plastic chalice.
no need for fire escapes
or purple, just four tires whirling
towards the newest hotel.
my hands used to be tools
& now they're vices. i grasp
the hem of every passing word.
who is going to name these streets
if not me & my chariot?
my dad is probably furious. 
he is probably laying down
in the garage looking up
at the ceiling where the bats 
make bets about our genders.
what is a father 
without his anger? what is
a child without the drive
to run away. i spent all my dimes
on this last firefly. i'm going
to keep him alive through winter
just you watch & then 
when summer comes he will be strong
& as big as a cat. i don't know how
i will return the stolen vehicle.
it might be better just
to consider that town
a no-go. what was so great
about that pie we used to sleep in anyway?
now i have grease under my finger nails.
i have a steering wheel
& a stirrup. if you could see me dad,
you might even be jealous. 

my uncle's garlic

five cloves on the top of the fridge.
commas are born from wanting 
more hair ties. he takes a spoon
to his own ceiling & scrapes.
i was too young for so long. 
we ate bread on the deck & watched
horses turn into dinner rolls. 
the sea level rose like a waist band.
the video game controller 
was a sibling & we pressed his forehead
to death. each morning the doves
take bets on us. spit dice 
from their tongues. sometimes 
the fridge is a woman. sometimes 
he's a man. my uncle hunches 
over a canvas & tries to draw 
garlic skin. meanwhile, the planets 
shed their first layers & drop them.
silk garments. why aren't more fruits 
swaddled? inside they
ache & ache until they're eaten.
all my sweetness was wasted
on being sixteen. once the bed & breakfast
tried to serve me a tremor.
in the yard we could grow a whole 
photograph. the garlic needs 
to be smashed by someone
with stone hands. these are uncommon
in my family. my dad has always
been made of rubber. my mom 
polishes her face in a puddle.
the television gives us 
a phone number to call.
nothing is worth singing about anymore 
so inside i play a dead harmonica
to wake up the dead deer. 
we take turns becoming 
lobes. i want to be minced 
& fine. i want to smell like
a trestle towards salt. the painting
is complete & it doesn't look like
a man. in the driveway a strange car 
turns around but we prep for
invasion. eating standing up.
trading shoes. i pocket 
a single tear of garlic 
& slip into the seam. 

when the world was an earring

i pierced a hole 
through the middle of my body like a sewer pipe.
we glinted in the morning's gold
& greened like spring onions.
all i wanted was a stud 
in the sand. we collected the horses
from the bottom of the barrel & 
gave thanks for orange peels. 
teeth sharpened to points 
& we drank the blue from every icicle.
what do you know about 
puncture? drilling holes in the drywall
to let out the pressure.
emptying my the house of its 
hot slippery ghosts.
bubbling oil. bread a star.
all i wanted was to be the kind of shine
visible from space. the moon
nods off to sleep. a buoy 
in my heart warbles. sea gulls
fly upside down. the ocean takes her oven
to the shop for fixing. all the stop lights
are replaced with costume jewelry.
women & geese climb the apertures
to snatch their pick. 
next year, next year we will
be holy. next year the trees 
will return with necks & new 
foliage. fresh green poetry.
i'll eat with a shovel in the early dark.
what should we do in the meantime?
i have a hot needle & i have
a trembling earlobe. i have 
a drum tight with the cow 
it was pulled from. come with me
i need help propping up
the backdrop. the mountain 
hasn't been a mountain for a long time. 
so, keep me a little velvet box. 
then, lose one half of me 
on the last day of the month
& discard the rest.

businessmen 

everyone is briefly important 
on the 5:15pm train to far rockaway. 
all the businessmen
have  smaller businessmen 
inside their brief cases meanwhile
i just have a casket inside my backpack.
don't worry no one is dead yet
we're just all preparing for funerals.
you never know when someone 
might need transporting 
to their place in the soil.
i text you when i should really 
be texting God. i say, "the men here
smell like knives." 
through the windows
i become a video game. in between stops 
the businessmen try to sell 
each other's houses. they say:
i could make a mountain out of
that doorway. one brushes my elbow
i worry about the contagiousness 
of their angular faces--the way 
their cuff links pin each man to himself.
they cough into silk handkerchiefs.
i eat a granola bar & wipe 
the crumbs from my thighs. 
the business men don't believe 
in ghosts or saturdays. they don't trust
the knuckles of strangers &
the smaller businessmen 
are all losers--
people just like themselves
who failed a deal. what has 
shrunken you? i once lived a whole year
the size of an ear bud. there's not
enough foliage to keep anyone safe.
the businessmen come & go
taking some of their shoulders with them.
i take off my belt & use it 
to hold the sun in place. it's not allowed
to be dark yet. after all i am 
only an hour old. the train 
chokes on our shoe laces. the train
spits us out one by one, me 
& all the businessmen &
their tinier colleagues. 
i am apprehensive about a future elevator.
i soon going to be fodder for a door.
walking past businessmen houses
& businessmen churches,
i am always careful.

lawn half-mowed

lawn half-mowed.
staircase half-walked.
jupiter half-open.
face half-shaved. the door 
half-open. my brother half-
born. a tree half-grown.
the morning half-blinking.
frost half-used. my bedroom
half monastery. my heart half-frying pan.
our family half-melting. 
butter half-cold. microwave 
half-hazardous. brothers half-truthful.
my dog half-sentient. myself 
half-wise. the house half-ghost.
girls half-electric. boys half-
god. me half-severing. me half-
guts. you half-tender. you half-
glacier. father half-drunk.
shoelaces half-done. a war
half-finished. deer half-starved.
a telescope half-blurry. ice half-blazing.
eyes half-pearl. ocean half-evaporated.
ozone half-gone. ice cream half-eaten.
a is bird half-feathers. half half-nonsense.
nonsense half-slurped. hurting half-on purpose.
haphazard half-for-the-hell-of-it. hands
half-folded. novel half-written.
teeth half-absconded. car half-useless.
mouth half-porthole. ship half-sailed.
dog half-human. memory half-projector.
you half-promising. me half-lullabying.
mothers half-gathering. funeral half-
digging. dirt half-giving way.
this morning half-my fault. last night
half-forgettable. your old phone number
half eights. our bodies together 
always half tongues. your fingers 
half meat. my eyelashes half-moth.
high noon half-betrayal. shadows 
half-alive. your pillow 
half-triumph. the lawn half-mowed.
all of us half-extinct. 

cutting board for meat

some of us have steak-knife aspirations.
my mother sits sharpening her set
& waits for a tow truck 
to lift the dead whale from the yard.
we used to eat pork chops
like flip-flops. i lay down 
on the designated plank where
all chicken are supposed to be quartered.
the farm spread like a virus
from the garage to the basement & up
behind our eyes. red glowing morning.
watch my breasts become 
main dishes. a fork on the bed stand.
passing the last tulip 
from mouth to mouth. i am full as a well.
i am stuffed with bread crusts 
& fever, trying to sweat out 
this radio sadness. i have tried
so hard to be edible. i have 
poured a canister of turmeric
down my throat & sang to lamp posts 
in the hopes you would see me
for what i am. you cook later
in the dim sunday moon. you eat
raw slivers. you know nothing
about my finger puppets. you wish
you could take the knife 
to my thigh. i am more than one
future platter. arrange the napkins
into a chin. the whale will make
a great stew. a potato saved
the marriage only one of us is dead.
i made a vase out of my skull
& used it for a tomato plant 
then carried it to your doorstep.
through each cherry tomato
i watch your ankles & your wrists.
all i've ever wanted was 
to be a knife stuck in a wall.
mother uses the whale bones
for soup. we cough up spoons.
you move on. you look for new recipes
& the pot boils over, musty
with carrots. the bed hardens with age.
ripening into a good torso.
who do you want me to be tomorrow?
i have enough muscle. what can i bring
to your open mouth? i have a shovel
to do the carrying.   

lessons from water-striders 

the creek is deeper than it promises.
we were only children so we trusted 
our own reflections is the warbling water.
my crooked crooked teeth. your crooked crooked nose.
rocks below have children
& those children are playing
rendezvous with the meadow ghosts.
a fish hook is waiting 
on the other side of every swim.
flyleaf lips in the reeds. fisherman 
crouching with his little tackle box 
& his little golden wedding ring.
he wants to catch an angel. slice her open
on the fire. fresh white meat. he has 
a buoy knife he loves more than 
all other bodies. he doesn't know anything
about quilting. all surfaces 
are staircases or sleeping bags. 
we learned to walk with our hands 
in our pockets simply stepping 
on the water membrane. how have
you learned to make yourself lighter?
first we'd empty our pockets
& then we'd empty our thoughts,
counting backwards & forwards.
all rivers don't lead to the ocean.
some become highways & other become 
parables. from the banks 
deer gathered & wept, wanting 
our grace. the fisherman worked 
until his bones were bare 
& only his skeleton labored.
secretly, i caught an angel
one afternoon. i wound her tight
& stuffed her in a pocket. the weight
made me fall into the water
& now i am just a minnow.
a humming body down below but 
i still have a pocket & i still
have the memory of one single leg.
i'm coming back in due time. 

smoking on the porch on Thanksgiving

we were dragons with our own private keepsakes.
it snowed & kept the family at bay.
no wars came to the lawn & no birds
feasted on each other's legs.
just the silence that ice promises.
we shared a set of mittens. my left hand
your right. the tree in the yard for dinner.
a loose tooth giving in & falling still hot
into the piling snow. not enough storm
to go around. perky queer oven.
a timer on my face dinging all day.
i was annoying & so were you. i knew nothing
about serving spoons. stole cigarettes 
to practice our mouths. red glow
of the tunnel. celebrating 
irony in a country of bad ghosts.
burning money for the hell of it
& lying "i don't have any more." crooked nose
from a mis-remembered punch.
the wishbone, missing. tracing bruises
in sharpie. not enough fine china
for all the services. thumbs on the table.
being a terrible child takes work.
we exceed al expectations & link arms 
only after everyone else 
has gone to sleep. my ghost
with your ghost. the train set aching
in its box in the attic. 
i show you the coffin i've been building
& you promise not to tell anyone else.
the secret lengths. we have no more relatives
& feel thankful. the dog dies 
over & over again. what are we going to do
in twelve years or so? 
i say, "brother?" & you respond
i with a nod & a dog-earing face, saving me
for the next morning when we both
can trade surnames. slices
of murky apple pie. forks stuck
in the dirt. 

poison garden

i planted my terrors in the warm dirt.
asked for a pathway out. 
a dead deer statues. cementing 
of the bone. limp animal. 
once, i was an aimless bite 
of deadly seed.
here grow your foxgloves &
your hemlock. wrought iron gate.
let me in let me in. let me out.
the graveyard spits bones
at the sun, rings it like a bell.
i lock my front door
three different ways to keep out
the ghosts of rabbits.
dunk my head in soil
to get a better look at hell.
it's not too bad really.
all those roots dangling down.
baby toes included. in the garden,
there are so many ways 
to die. it's best
to just close your eyes
& accept a fate. the butterflies 
turn white with sickness. 
one, escapes but dissolves 
in the fresh air. i used to be
someone who believed 
in change. great radical change.
i have grown a garden now
from my self destructions.
everything, but especially death,
is contagious. what i want
is a cure to scoop me up
& rename me. i'll put on
a fresh gender for the grass.
a thousand dead ants.
veneration for destructive flowers.
finally finally. i am so 
undone about weakness. my weak 
knuckles & my weak ankles & my weak 
eyes. slowly, even words 
pastel smear. my uncle
was a painter & he took a tiny brush
to sow my eyes & now there is
not one here to fix them.
trust a root. trust a planet.
& you will always be swindled 
out of your ammunition. you don't deserve 
my mandrake or my nightshade
but especially not my shattered tooth.
come sleep with me
where the roses still have legs.
winter is coming soon 
to tuck us all behind her ear.