saddle

my leather butterfly hums open.
rochester test on the back
of a man. you stood 
on all fours on the bed 
& told me to make you 
my horse. your eyelashes
like telephone wires. your teeth
square as rubix cubes. 
a bed frame
is a scaffold towards
a slipping height. i dream a bed
as tall as the mountain. 
i dream of riding you there.
the first time i loved a boy
he cut a map into my bones.
he said here is where
i kiss you 
& here is how
you thank me. the maple leaves
turned brown in fear. 
crumpled & turned.
a horse stood on the edge
of the school yard. 
tall as
a god. 
hooves like lodestones
holding him to earth. 
i thanked him
for his vigiliance. 
what will you do
to please a boy? is it different
if he is a man? 
you ask
to be straddled. i tell you
i am a mammal. i am really
a mammal. you admits 
your blood is the color red.
we are tangled between
each others joints. you have
two knees 
& i have two shoulders.
bite collar. clutch hip.
hold on to me you say.

we became bee keepers

helped each other 
into the garments. a net
around the face. 
your face obscured by
net pattern, like static 
or snow. speckled teeth.
warped eyes. yes, i could tell
you were smiling. you asked
where i hid the bees 
& i said i would show you 
if you were patient.
next each of us slipped into
white jumpsuit, fabric swallowing
our bodies. yellow gloves.
we held hands, protected 
from the threat of skin.
i took you out far away
from our lives,
following a trail 
of mist. i told you
to close you eyes.
i said "here are the bees"
& there were
no bees. just the yellow
of the sun 
& the black of our eyelashes
& the yellow of our gloves.
the nests were empty.
but you played along.
you smile warped
through the netting. you pretened
to be covered in bees.
i said "we're going to eat
honey every single night."
the earth was falling away 
in juju bee fragments.
my tongue, soft & fearful.
was your body even there
beneath all the clothe?
soon, we would be
the last bee keepers.
i told you not to cry.
i held my hand up
& said "look here's
a bee."

yellow tire swing

the sturdy orbit 
of a fly around a skull. 
back & forth insect. we were kids 
in the only playground
& you pushed me into the sky
until it snapped like 
glass candy. a grain of sugar,
like a seed freckling 
in the dirt. you on one side
& me on the other. chains 
holding us up. a spider web 
in the cavity of the tire.
an animal waiting 
to leave bite marks 
on our ankles. you were not
my brother, you were 
just a playground child
& we exchanged names & i forgot yours
only a day or two later. you became
a boy on a tire swing & so did i. 
we crouched in the mulch.
fingers made of worms. pendulum 
swinging one of us on either side.
you with your messed curly hair
& me with me hair buzzed short.
the swing wove higher,
went all space ship 
in our urging. we had dads
back in the soil. i wanted
to flying saucer without you
& find myself cloud perching.
a squirrel watched us
from a branch with his 
deep black eyes. the squirrel
went & told his family that humans 
were trying to destroy themselves.
he was only slightly wrong.
all the contraption
& the clink of chain 
as you got off the tire swing.
i asked you to stay. balance
the weight. i wanted to keep 
pulsing. you turned 
& became a red car far away.
i wanted to star-fish lay
but i was too small.
i fell through several 
donuts. mulch clung to my back
& poked into my skin. 
what thresholds do you pass through now?
a yellow tire swing blooms 
in my doorways. a part of me
is still waiting
for you to balance 
a sway. 

tradition

the ghost of my grandmother made a trifle 
& set it on the porch for me yesterday.
by the time i got to it there were
flies in the whipped cream on top 
& worms in the custard. layer after layer.
where did she find this glass vessel?
whose kitchen did she commandeer?
i have to empty the sweetness out 
& so i spill the contents 
in the mealy ground.
stray cats gather, oraphened 
& licking their paws. all cats 
are keepers of family trees. they know
where i came from & who left
the trifle. i ask them
if they have seen my grandmother
& they all look around 
as if they hadn't heard me.
once, my grandmother made
with same trifle for my first communion.
i wore a white dress & i pressed
my hands together in prayer.
you can teach a child to do anything
if you call it holy. i wonder
where my dress is now--
all our little dresses
lining up to place god in our mouths.
when was the last time
a man asked to be put in your mouth
& called it holy? i apologize
i'm getting away from myself
you want to know about the trifle.
it was beautiful & glistened 
with berries & whipped cream.
grandmom stared at it 
like it should never 
be eaten. on our plates
the layers muddled together.
spoonfuls of cream & sugar & 
sharp strawberry syrup & hunks
of shortcake. i know she will
leave me another one tomorrow.
she will keep coming 
until i dip a spoon in the layer
& sit down on the floor to eat with her.
the truth about ghosts is 
they are everywhere but only 
every once in awhile does
a desire spill out of them.
i tell her she needs to leave
the trifle right as i come home
from work & she claps 
in approval. i wash out
the glass container 
& happily, it vanishes.
i put a bare spoon in my mouth 
& listen to the creeking floorboards.
the stray cats lick cream
from the bushes.

when did you know you were becoming a cloud?

tuesday was full of holes.
i woke up dizzy, steading myself
by leaning against
every door frame. 
the water left my body
in a steady column of mist.
a dumbweighter rigged 
up to the sky.
steam from each finge tip.
tendrils. rivers 
run backward. i ached all over.
i had chills & i laid 
on the floor of the living room
trying to think of who 
to call to altert them 
of my changing state.
i felt my voice
dispersing too. each word
becoming a droplet 
of water. oh! all the poems 
i've missed 
in a rain storm.
oh! my teeth scattering 
towards heaven.
i missed the boundaries
of skin & dirt. i missed
the way i used to 
trust a beam 
of sunlight. to this day
we are not sure
what triggers the shift
from body of flesh
to body of mist. in both
i was bored & aloof.
looking down, i rename
all the streets 
in everyone's hometowns.
this one is tree top this one
is swingset & this one
is femur. if someone 
really missed me they would have
sent me a ballon. i wouldn't
have been able 
to read the message
but as the object
passed across my face
i would know it quavered
with human songs. instead,
i brace for airplanes.
cut me through 
with urgency. carry another body
towards a new hunk of earth. 
really, there is 
very little movement. 
clouds do not kiss. we do not
sleep or shake hands.
we do not miss each other. 
next time i rain
i hope it falls all over
the face of a previous lover. i hope
i snap his umbrella
& his clothes stick
to his skin & he looks up
& cannot help 
but think
of us.

a starling life

i have a cardboard box full of 
terrified apostoles. found it
on my door step with my other packages.
lid taped shut. they huddle near 
each other & i put my ear 
to the surface to listen to their secrets.
paul is weeping & john is leading them
in song. they talk about starlings
& how starlings are eaten by 
other birds--plucked from the air.
a hawk & a vulture with their beaks
full of starlings feathers. 
the heart of the starlings
thrums inbetween clouds. i hear it
like a bicycle chain.
out of guilt, the other birds
burry the starling's thin bones
in the backyard. the apostoles
dream of riding birds back up
into heaven & they elegize
the starling. they talk
to the bones until the bones
push up through the dirt.
it's not enough to make 
a walking skeleton
so the scattered bones 
just twitch & hum. i check 
my own bones in the mirror.
thin & possibly capable of flight.
i did not order any apostoles
so i do not open the box 
even though the apostoles
begin to chant 
that they want to see 
daylight glow. i pretend
not to hear them. it is easy
to ignore tiny gods. i want
to live a starling life
without fear of dirt. magick 
in the soles of my feet.
a hovering forming
at the tip of my tongue. 
i return the box of holy men
& stand in the yard afterwards 
working on a bird call.
no sound comes out. i touch
the starling bones
& feel a vibration
traveling into me. the starling
& i promise to never leave
each other. i swaddle the bones
in leaves & return to a good windowsill.
the hawk & the vulture 
were watching. 

circus / circular 

the ballon dart lands 
in my thigh muscle 
between meat & murk. 
feather tail protruding. becomes 
a bird. your circus funhouses me
into a bright whirling corner.
i wanted a popcorn fuck
& i wanted the glaze 
off the apple. where was the last
fairgrounds you sulked?
he was my first backyard 
& his swingset filled itself
with rusted nails. a merry-go-round
twists until it's as thin
as a hair. summertime
is for charades. 
i'm kicking my legs:
am i swimming or fighting 
for my life? a pool of water
dunks me. drenched, i crawl
to you & all your bells.
i was indebted to your ring.
you won me a giant stuffed angel
complete with blinking eyes.
your soul on a ferris wheel
looking down at all 
the freckle-people. i grab your hand
but it turns to taffy.
i touch my face
smooth as glass. i become
a mirror in the wrong light.
there are too many calories
in a twist ice cream cone
so i just eat a tablespoon
of sprinkles 
before they turn into
a swarm of colorful flies.
i am leaking out of myself.
all my blood gone caramel.
a boyfriend is a kind of
red button. i press you
over & over. when will you
launch me into the face
of the moon? oh firefly harvestor
oh funnel cake heart oh tower 
of frayed hair.
you leave me with
a chain of tickets. i try 
to exchange them 
for a flashlight 
or a kazoo. you took all my whimsy 
with you. you planted a tent 
in the living room.
lion after lion. a cow
chewing wires. who were you
to laugh at a light bulb?
you strung my flowers 
& neoned them all night.

falconing in new york city 

after you left
i watched nature documentaries
every single day. it is not true.
you cannot carve a routine 
out of just a door &
a television. on screen
i watched falcons ride 
wind currents between skyscrapes 
in manhattan.
they plucked rats from alleys 
& rooftops. the rats, ragged.
the falcons 
sitting high above 
& sending telegrams 
to god. one falcon says
"some humans are obsessed
shimmer." an empty lot 
is a kind of church, rubble
for rosary. i ate lunch 
on the concrete & felt 
like a real true human there.
stoplights after stoplight
& car after car nudging each other
around corners. the city 
was a a series of tight turns.
below the streets
the rats were discussing
their teeth. they were holding hands
& dancing in circles. in my hand
i clutched a plastic fork
made with dinosaur oil.
this was only last july
i was in a thrall of 
air & metal & i knew nothing
about the falcons or their meals.
what other animals were
above & below? who was i
doing there? hours later
on the long island railroad 
i would rush to find a seat.
hopefully a window seat
to see the city
slip away through a series
of orange tunnel lights.
the falcons see every light
as a jewel to never be touched.
the falcons gather 
on my forehead some nights
& tell me there is a rat
to be caught 
in the basement of my new apartment
away from the city. 
they tell me i am no longer 
human here. all those people
with their fingers 
clutching bars
& arms & bags. so many people
shoulder to shoulder. 
all the sweat
of one afternoon. the falcons
sharing a carcass 
on a rooftop,
taking turns imparting their intel 
with angels. 
i often shut the TV off 
in the middle of a show.
i think to myself, that is enough.
falcons rattled inside the screen.
a man in my heart
takes a loud phonecall through 
a dead tunnel. i do not know 
what exactly it is i miss 
& what it is 
i am without.

portland 

i walked through the food truck village 
late in the night. orange lamp glow.
an open yellow-full window. no one else
was alive in all of the city. 
you were elsewhere in a forest
of faces & hair. i was leaving you
for good. i wanted to be 
a phantom. you wanted to be
all skin & warm face.
a ghost sang from a rooftop before
turning back into a bed sheet.
i said, "i want to join you" but the ghost
was already on his way. i knew very little
about the city, only that the bus
would slink by soon & that some corners 
smelled like white flowers & 
that i was a whole country away 
from all my usual haunting.
i wanted to show someone
the sleeping food trucks
but no one else was around.
i decided it would be best
to not take a pictute. who knows 
what kind of creatures an image
might reveal. all those dormant animals.
a stop light heating to red.
a candle in a window. smell of 
dragon's blood. sitting on a stone bench 
i pretended
to be a statue. i imagined
you would pass me on your way back
to our hotel room &
you would not recognize me.
i would stay here forever
until someone saw my soul
in the stone. i am a martyr 
of sadnesses. a single car
shimmered by & turned down
a narrow alley way. a ways away
a couple, leaning all over each other
like townhouses, ambled 
from a crack in the wall.
no, i was not alone.
i took one more look
at the darkened windows
of the food trucks & i slipped
even deeper into 
a city i didn't know. 
somewhere, you did 
the same.

precipitation 

i was greedy & i swallowed
a cloud whole. i had been so hungry
for so long. i sat & counted
the blue objects from
the roof of my car: the sky
the sky the sky. a door knob
in the dirt asked to be turned,
so i reached & the world flipped.
you were no longer an airplane pilot
or a coroner. you were a boy
to run between trees with.
i cashed you & kissed the bark.
my feet in blue & all the tree roots 
tangled in the ceiling. lamps 
in our hair. you swiped a fork
from the drawer & used it 
to comb my hair. i unhinged 
my jaw to show you 
how i eat clouds. on my knees
in a pivoted atmosphere. 
my tongue grazed raw my mist.
taste of above & plummet. taste of 
gazing upward. a sprinkle
of ocean salt. water from
bone marrow & water from 
knuckles & water from loud river--
all of that in my body.
you didn't want to eat one too
so i worked on chewing
alone in the kitchen. i am ashamed
of most things i eat. sometimes,
i dream of being a tree 
or a flower & eating nothing 
but sun. even more often
i imagine a bond fire 
in the forest. you feed me
snake meat & i feed you 
mulberries. you are a boy 
unafraid of wildlife. you take my hand
& bite off the pinky finger.
it was no very useful anyway.
you have no body
but your shadow is sometimes
so large it covers the whole town.
oh lover, i want to show you
what i can do with my teeth.
the clouds curls up feline 
in me. there is rain coming.