who is sleeping in my old bedroom

history is a matter of elbow room.
the thin walls of the house on grant avenue 
revealed everything about its inhabitants.
sometimes, i would put an ear
to the wall right in front of my closet
& listen to the future. 
i have nothing much to report.
the microwave had knuckles & the basement 
told half stories of discarded sweaters 
& a warped star-painted canvas.
the window faced a square of grey sky
& a construction vehicle elegized 
the slice of road it was cutting into. 
in that town everything
was in the process of leaving.
a storefront shucked its face
for another. after me, rachel lived
in my bedroom & she put her bed
where my desk used to be. the window
shrunk in size to accommodate
an unknown variable. little tac holes 
dwelled where i'd pasted my posters.
i liked the floor there. it was unnaturally 
smooth. you could roll anything
across it: an eyeball, a wheel,
a planet. what did she keep in the closet?
are my old coat hangers still there
waiting like train passengers,
hands gripping the long eternal 
metal bar? whoever is there now,
where have they placed their bed?
when they step outside into the cool 
wintering new york, which direction 
do they follow the sidewalk?
is the window any smaller?
what i miss most is 
the postage stamp of a yard. 
just a thumb's worth of grass. i never
sat there but i should have.
instead i just peered at it.
watched the blades grow tall 
& short tall & short. browning
in january. muddied with melting snow.  

level 1

in this video game
i killed the witch by paring her
into four even pieces. her soul
was plastic anyway but 
i still feel bad about it. we escaped
through a necklace of crumpled
green backyards.
my heart was a yellow tire swing.
the knife, the murder weapon,
turned into a butterfly
& pulsed out of view.
i try to be generous with 
my violence. i take it down
to the dead leaves & run
like a loose fire. 
if i could remember how to pause
i would but instead i keep walking,
looking for a glitch 
to jitter me open. the witch 
was beautiful in a way 
witches shouldn't be--
no gnarled fingers, just
a little cottage full of lies.
i have her broom & i'm sweeping
a path in the pixel snow.
the mailbox has a clue inside.
a letter from the dead
rolled up in a scroll. it's written
in a language i don't understand
so i fold it up in the hopes
one day it'll talk to me.
if i don't text you back
it's because i'm trying
to win this level & my ribs
have gone digital. my teeth 
are mesh & sifting. the witch
oh i miss her so much with 
all her torture & her containments.
she wanted only to chain me
to a pole in the yard. oh how i could
have thrived out there 
with all my image. how i could have
been dismembered delicately
inside of all at once. it isn't 
a matter of when you're used
for spellwork but when.
the console is heated with delight.
i am proud of how far we've come
in this universe of electric crops.
for now i'm going to try
to reassemble the witch
with whatever water is left
in the landscape. then i will turn
the sun off for a rest 
& behind my eyelids the dead 
will chatter selfishly.
 

edible 

the first tree we ate was a last resort.
bitter tough bark. leaves rolled 
for easier bites. the tree had always
served us well. tall & prying
the moon open slowly slowly slowly.
we'd already eaten onion grass
& gravel & a tiny sliver of a comet
we saved in the cellar for a special occasions. 
branch by branch we gnawed. splinters
in teeth. if you eat a tree you also
eat their ghost. viscous with all their years
the ghost was tough & rubbery.
we took turns aching from it.
all the memories of rain spilling 
down our throats. all the regret 
a tree can clutch to. often
i blame my hungers on some faltering
of mine. if only i had a stronger will
i could feed only on heat & letters.
down to the knotted roots. shaking soil
from the tangles before stuffing them
into our mouths. seeing one another
with dirt stuck beneath our fingernails.
a shameful circus. like a shark feeding. 
thirst-ridden roots. ghost spewing 
pulses of depth. go deeper.
go deeper into the rough. 
i wish this was the only tree
we devoured but the land still lay
empty of any true dinner plates.
i found a spoon once & hid it. 
we eat even without hunger. 
when you are sick, you can 
convince yourself anything is 
an obligation. i have to go now 
& cut another tree down one limb
at a time. i'm told the last bird
died eighteen years ago. i was 
too young to remember
but once we found a nest 
& split it between us. the song
glimmered under our tongues.
we sang into napkins
only once & then it was gone.

intimacy

you would hew me 
into your personal boat.
called me "life raft"
& i shaved my knees
without telling you.
the storm rose sea levels
like a great curtain
& i looked up at you
my plundered something.
do you remember 
digging your knuckles
into my teeth. noosing my throat
with your texture. i became
a man in your handling. 
we make jokes about
how loving men is a curse
but you knew how to fable
just as i liked it.
no one else has done that since.
there are desirable 
ways to be maimed. 
you told me you could read stars
& that one cluster
made my body, following us
like a mother. we had
to escape her & never let
her glimpse this mastering. 
a bedroom 
isn't always the lid 
of a prayer book. who were you
to pull my tongue
long as a scarf & wrap it
round your neck. 
this autumn any leaf pile
could have concealed you.
leaves float on the surface
at first but soon stick 
to the bottom of a lake 
or a stream. there i rest
letting you drift past me
again & again. at a certain 
the memory is only the memory 
& the not the people inside.
i am your boat still
whenever you need one.
i have saved room
inside my skin for your specific
hurting. tell me 
i am sturdier than you thought.
lie to me. tell me i was 
mapped first in a cluser
of stars. tell me my manhood 
is glossy & hidden
but not from you.  

several sacrifices  

i'm killing the ocean for clear skin.
a spoonful of sand. 
swallowing grit & shell. a jagged moon
broken like a wafer 
over the surface. plastic beads
excavate my cheeks for debris.
little construction workers 
sleeping between scalp hairs.
their little yellow hats. their shovels.
how does the sediment begin?
take a layer, leave a layer.
yesterday my friends traded faces
through a portal. i played hopscotch
with a freckle. free of the scabs
on my elbows, i waded into 
the sink. all pipes lead 
to the deep. a trench whispers
water's first language. 
the mirror is a lie machine.
stared at myself on the other end.
when did i start looking 
like a handful of geology?
rub the red out. rinse chin. 
my eyelashes erode into song.
take a paint roller to my lips.
no more creasing at all.
a bed sheet where a wave
used to be. clear my schedule 
& my shoulders. who is sleeping
in the shade of my nose.
little men with their 
blue beaded necklaces. 
no one can find work anymore.
i won't tell them to leave.
prying a layer back 
i find that missing tooth 
& that collar bone. i'll need them
in case i want to barter 
with the mouth in the dead tree
or the gargling ocean 
just beneath the drain. 

frog skeleton

we live in a loose-lidded fish tank.
i want the sun to be less harsh.
the can opener is lost & so 
i suck on the surface trying
to pry the word "bean" from its shell.
the earth is older than anyone has counted.
if we put our provisions together 
we'll have enough to leave water again.
lately, i've been reminiscing about
when i used to have less cells.
we were organisms with our bodies
brushing up against each other.
nothing more queer than an organelle.
biology is just a long poem. 
the tweezers in the bathroom
are designated as blood tweezers.
glass wasn't invented
it was inevitable as an opposite
to flesh. i had to tweezer-pull
a bone from my heel. the frogs
we used to be keep me up at night
with all their breathing skin.
often when my skin breathes 
i have the desire 
to leap from the water &
die on the carpet. crawl under
the washing machine & dream 
myself a new species. who is going
to drop the fish feed in the pond?
frog's finger bones are thin 
& even longer than they seem.
they wrap three times around the earth.
clutch the core. i'm jumping rope
in my DNA. a cluster of eggs
in the sink are actually future eyes.
when you blink you are
opening & shutting the cabinet.
i want you to keep my skeleton
in a glass box. donate my soul
to science. here is proof
of sadness. proof we came
from water. the fish tank light
keep me company. my shadow cast
beneath me. 

pin cushion 

kept my mouth open
for any slice of terror.
men are eager for their
portions of fear.
i wanted to be sliver-filled. 
an ache
on an eyelid. 
the needle slipped 
into skin. how easily
a sharpness can 
walk through a sheet 
of noise. how do you 
hold your tongue?
how do you keep 
your basement-longing 
away from the inspectors?
i ate a crown from
my father's skull 
& pinned it to 
the ceiling. 
the dresses are 
falling apart
from their own 
grief. we amble home
on polka dots & i break
every promise i once 
held onto like a guard rail.
who are we going 
to sacrifice this year?
the altar is murky.
i am lusting for 
the wooden banister.
let's ride ourselves 
downward towards
that one bright underworld.
a dragon protects 
my irises from sunlight
& i beg for just a glimpse.
you press your face
to the window & breath 
a mask between us.
my palm full of pins 
there isn't much else
to be read there. 
take one. leave one.
help me keep the planets 
from breaking orbit.
seduce the moon
into her greatest size.
what else swells 
with longing? pinned 
to the tree in the backyard 
& forced to watch 
the bats fish bugs
all night. a father
burying night lights
with the skulls of rats.
a mouse beneath the fridge
saying two words
as a prayer. a pin
in his back soon 
to hold him in place.
adhered to my bed
like a ghost. the sheets pulled away
& turned into a blanking flag.
i never meant to be
so scared of you. 

kennel

divide my fingers into cages.
one for each dream. who should we send
to fight off the comet?
i am dripping with 
glass again. i don't have
enough air. the rash 
appears in the shape
of a crescent. the moon 
is too old for this. 
the men are taking the carpet away--
rolled up like a tongue.
i stuff my fluids into 
a vase so the robbers won't take them
when they inevitably open 
the front door. i leave myself unlocked
for a reason. a key swallowed 
by a daughter. whose fish 
are dead in the bathtub?
a whole lot of barking 
from the basement, would you like
to explain? sorry that place
doesn't exist anymore.
hit the back button enough
& you'll find where this all
went wrong. the doors 
are breathing. a shadow dog
prowls the streets
in search of a bone 
to gnaw on. i don't have
enough room for ankles.
the forest once horse-knee buckled for me.
collapsed & never was heard of again.
now there's a clearing 
where even men are afraid
to build a dungeon.
we eat by the fire & roast
our root knuckles. 
gasoline is singing blue & bold.
the basement is growing
farther away & soon
it won't even pose a problem.
who do you sell your
catastrophes to? i jar mine up.
screw the lid on tight
so i can't hear them whimpering. 
they're fermenting. soon
i'll have pickled our old love
& it'll be a whole new beast. 

november elegy 

i could easily kick down
the front door. the lock is flimsy.
my key often turns into 
a silver fish & wriggles away
to eat a plank of wood. 
the walls are thicker here
but still sometimes i can hear
a neighbor talking to her tv.
i wear headphones so much
my ears talk back to me.
inside the closet 
the world's smallest angel 
eats a bag of chips & get the crumbs
all over everything. we wake up
too early & too late. 
my dogs refuse to do the dishes.
what was the point of november
if we were just going to
spend it on the same worries?
i don't remember how to eat
so i watch videos of people
filling their mouths 
with marshmallows. my jaw 
is a shoe horn. i change
a light bulb in the hopes 
my house might attract 
a few wooden butterflies 
who've decided not to die for winter.
up the street, a rose bush
continues to bloom despite the frost.
i want to know her secret.
i sit on the hard wood floor,
back up against the heater
& ask a gnat what 
i should ache over tonight.
stir a bowl of plain water.
eavesdrop on the eggs 
in the fridge as they fantasize 
about becoming little rocket men.
the moon is always an option at least:
a guest for dinner, a future vacation,
or a dessert. forkfuls of stone.
the power goes out 
& we pray for a time rift.
i tell my friend 
on the nonexistent landline
& say, "do you remember 
july when we thought we were green?"
she plays a harmonica
in the backseat. the angel 
sneaks out of the closet
& i pretend not to see him. 
i crawl into the morning
& pry open the sun
with a spoon. 

Hot Topic Corsets

i wanted to be fastened.
roped. bond. j helped latch
all the hooks all up my back
while k watched. we'd each
picked out a corset to try on.
j's was all black. k's pink.
mine accented by one snaking green ribbon.
dressing room mirrors. my knees
like little tea cup plates.
a girl is always a site of 
latching & vigilance. 
3 sixteen year old girls
fettering themselves in the middle
of a white neon-glowing mall. 
a pile of our canvas shoes at the back
of the dressing room like
discarded staircases.
is "sexy" always an attempt?
a mask? a tying up? 
i watched as the corset 
pulled me tighter.
raised my breasts. 
we turned to see all our angles.
took blurry pictures 
with flip phones.
ran hands through our own hair.
intimate with ourselves.
crossing arms over chests. 
ate our own skin from the mirror.
we didn't buy them
but afterwards we sat the three of us 
in the food court 
& chewed on buttery soft pretzels 
while talking about boys.
our everyday clothes now 
feeling loose 
& too forgiving.