fire-eating tutorial

pre-sun, we used to fill 
the moon with oil & light her.

i was a rainbow in the oil.
old veins in the trees remember

what colors the first fires were.
now, we give back our dust

to the sidewalk. i broke off
a limb & used it as a oar.

cup your hands & wait
for candy.

the flood was wild & pink.
take your tongue & press it 

to the back of your teeth
like you're about to say "true."

nothing will fill you
quite like this.

sandpaper your lips until
they shine. a trip

to the back of the grocery store
to find the fire.

fire in the sink. fire eating
your friend's chest.

a mirror on the mantel 
for fire gazing. scrying 

with the sun. fire in each
eye socket. nothing to worry about.

the ashes will blow away.
the moon will fill with nectar.

your insides will bloom.
spit out a disaster. brothers

in their cassocks coughing
incense. after the throat we don't know

where citizens happen.
you knew ice cream once & it ached

all the way to your bones.
we were little icicles. little teeth.

you knew you were going
to be a mother even then.

spit & spat. the damaged dragon
selling himself for dimes. 

one moment filled to the brim
& then ghost. 

fitting room

you need another size up.
turn around. you feel cool 
don't you? the mirrors blink 
like big brothers. 
you've never been inside a GAP before
& everyone here is clean.
lots of shoes with white soles.
you aunt is a sliver woman 
with lots of knuckles & papery lips.
she's taking you shopping
so you can get older.
you love the orange pale flowers-print hoodie.
pull the hood
over your head & stuff fists
into pockets. now you're
a real hermit crab girl.
leave a thumb print on a mirror.
measure fat by the handful. 
camo pants. she tells you to turn around.
crosses her arms like trestles.
on the street outside the wide shop windows
everyone carries a large shopping bag
with their heart at the bottom. 
you think of the thrift store
where you usually go with mom.
there was a red shirt you loved
but it didn't quit stretch 
over your stomach. shopping is 
a series of bodily installations.
you are going to fifth grade next year
& you'd hoped to be smaller by then.
there's no use in looking
for too long or the mirror self
will start to get ideas. she brings you
more & more items. she brings you
a yellow dress that makes you feel 
like a widening smudge & a pink top
with a purposeful hole in the side.
you notice her fingernails'
round even tips. little opaque 
windows. she takes a smoke break
& you sit in the dressing room
avoiding all four of yourself.
you look at your soft pinkish lips
& your crooked jagged nails.
bite them down. spit the bits
on the navy blue carpet.
you'd like this to never end. 
 

fork swallowing contest

i challenge myself,
laying my implements
on the counter. outside, the snow
is just starting to blush
& a man shovels a tunnel
from his doorstep
to his lovers. a whisper
lingers outside my window.
fork between teeth. i ask
"am i?" the forks tune the air,
ready to sing. 
all the thumb tacs 
hold my apartment's shoulders back.
no one knows my favorite sound
& it's a secret
i want desperately to admit.
the forks coil & uncoil.
little creatures. my throat
is dense & planetary. i used to believe
in garbage disposals & 
composting my tongue. i wanted
the limb to come back
green & soft. the back yard
spits a spoon at the window
each night as a reminder
to eat again in the morning.
i'm no sick of forks though.
their fingers reaching & their necks
so thinned from nodding.
alarms are a kind of angel.
first fork goes down easy
but second scrapes a long gash
in my throat. i peel open
& in comes the dust.
no matter how hard i try
my house is always 
brimming with dust. i wake up
with a layer on my forehead.
in a future life i'd like
to just be a bookshelf 
or a cutlery drawer. get rid
of all my pink parts.
last fork is easy since
i'm already split open.
just set teeth inside teeth.
no more forks. free of forks.
in bed i feel a sliver of peace
even if the forks will just
come out my mouth at night
as dragonflies. what i would do 
for a radio or a gas lamp.
how do you know 
your done chewing? 
the metal lilts. i am 
just a box. a bird stands
upside down. sings
a knife through the air
where it lodges in the far wall.
i say, "thank you"
so the animal will leave me
to my thought gazing.
i hum & the forks hum too. 

supermarket underwater

we used to hold our breath,
my mom, my brother, & i 
in the blue water. i asked
for webbed feet or gills.
we put foot stamps beneath our tongues
& shut our eyes.
a drenching urge to purchase
everyone's conversations
as they packaged themselves
in plastic. a pair of scissors
just for cutting open glass.
automatic bubble.
the shopping cart hovering slightly
as we all worked to thrust. 
my brother complaining 
of the lack of air & mom explaining
"this will all be over soon."
once a year
someone drowns in the market
& everyone else waits for the body
to be fished out with net.
what separates fish meat
from human meat from
jack fruit meat? 
i buy diving gear because i want
to feel powerful even 
in the sea of my hungers. 
i'm sick of buying toilet paper
& shampoo.
i want to only snap up 
cake & sweets & cherries & melon
floating in the depths. 
live in a house of sugar.
dissolve under my own tongue.
it is not fair
there's so many aisles.
one for each stripe of longing.
with my new suit i can last
almost a whole day
underwater. the dry world
knows nothing of pressure
& push. a plastic bag
billowing like a jellyfish 
or a ghost. i'm filling the cart.
i'm using my webbed feet.
soon, i will break the surface
& the air will gasp as i 
& all the others exit
via the supermarket ramp.
the whole scene will be
mostly hidden under the surface.
just a water-blurry neon red sign
saying, "SHOP HERE."

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.