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.

my great aunt's hair

i'm flossing with a sun beam 
till my teeth are white.
let's bleach the apples 
pale as lotion. when i'm old
i will go to the salon every week
& let women make a cake 
of my skull. read a magazine
about sadness. a finger food platter
is floating from my shoulder to yours.
my great aunt's hair
is tall & curly & white. 
we were saved by a clip-on earring
before we had dinner. please wait
to be seated. what kind of brother
steals from his brother's wallet?
i'm taking IDs & coins. 
now i'm a real boy.
now i'm a plunderer of pockets.
my teeth are lop-sided like 
the old roofs in town 
or the gravestones up the road.
i am an old plot. if i could
i'd blink the walls of my apartment
anything other than white.
everything is getter larger.
i crave a little control
over aging. my toenails smile. 
they haven't found life on the moon
& i'm beginning to think they won't.
the moon dips herself 
in a cup of milk until she's soft
& manageable. i want to take
the rest of of the year
& just float in a warm pool 
of water. who are you to stop me?
i've noticed a pocket knife shows up
in a lot of my poems even though
i've never had one. there's something
i love about the eagerness
of that device. so, here's
the pocket knife. ready right
beneath my rib cage. peeling open 
& closed. the truth is
the next year already knows us
& what we're capable of. 
threading a bone needle.
boiling a found skull. 
a little morsel of moon.
24 hour salon. hole in a pocket.

santa claus pictures

balance me like a vase on your lap.
i want to hold the lilies
in my mouth. belly full of
ringing water. we were children again 
& december was giving us a rash. 
on all fours,
i ate feed from his hand.
animal me, the boy with 
an elongating tail. wrapping a secret
up in cellophane & setting it
in the back of the fridge next to
an empty pickle jar.
the chair at the table 
mother sets for god. we saw
the ghosts of deer righteously
circling the hole to hell.
he counted my fingers
to be sure. we stepped out
into the snow drift with bare feet
to feel the cold sharpness 
a porch folding itself
into a red napkin. the lilies 
taking their time with death.
i open my mouth 
& all the petal of my lips
wilts & drops. 
how do you determine
which celebration you want 
to nail to the wall?
run in a stocking. torn tendon. 
we shouldn't dwell too much
on what we want. rather we should 
compare notes about the scents
of wood. i think the tree
smells like a weeping game.
chop down a monster. 
two knees made of metal. 
holding hands as we take a chance
on men's synthetic beards.
sew me a face for this.
cross your fingers. tell me
now how you plan to sever. 
make your questions
pocket-sized & edible.
the pine cone hovers where
a heart should be. we take turns 
fearing & listing. cradle envelops 
full of orange & brown 
& red leaves.

are you looking forward to the weekend? 

i'm crawling in
through the smallest window
of a shrinking room.
the shoes by the door are getting lonely.
i can hear the sound of you thinking:
bright whining light. the bracelets 
have their own eyes. walls slick
with day-dreaming. the carpet
the size of a pinky-nail. 
how minute can we be tonight?
hush, there are baby birds
trying to nest in me. 
even the plants have plans tonight.
their roots mingling. 
i'm filling my socks with soil
& walking three miles. 
try not to explain what you want--
just let it smack its head
against the sliding glass world.
hives bristle across my arms.
i am allergic to something 
but i can't pin-point what
though the color maroon
has always made me dizzy.
i want a better place
to lay down where the sunlight
hasn't heard of yet. 
as the room gets smaller
i list what i'd like to keep:
lamp, lover, & ankles. 
outside, the angels don't bother
blessing doorways anymore.
a bird falls dead from the sky
like an envelope. 
sometimes i spit up a key 
or two. my blanket becomes
a sting ray & flies above me.
i have no luck catching it.
room filling with water, i picture
the old fish tank a glow 
with green algae. 
whose life is this i coil in?
whose knuckles & whose humming?
i crave a nice stove 
to set a pot on. i miss the way
you used to carry me down
from the ceiling where i hid.
what happened to those arms?
how do you find me now?
a little fleck of color 
in the midst of a clenching tooth?
you lay open as a veil
in some else's backyard.
i can hear the whoosh
of a baseball flying through 
a cloud. scoop me out.
it's getting tighter. 

sunday school

i'm sending my white knee socks
to the bell tower so they can learn something
about god. one of my toes is crooked
& i wonder which hymn i broke it on.
it's alright though because
rachel & i agree all feet are ugly.
children in sunday school 
are standing on the ceiling
& the blood is rushing to their heads.
someone get them down before
they plummet themselves.
linoleum is holy. neon is holy. 
a bat in the attic wakes from a bad dream
with no one to comfort her.
the mice hold midnight mass
& use cheese for the eucharist.
in fifth grade my sunday school class
learned about the parts of the mass.
i don't remember any of it
but do remember i had a crush 
on a boy with longish hair
& he used to spend the whole class
cracking his knuckles & checking the window
as if someone might be peering in.
the angels have taken the last
five to seven years off entirely. they cover
their ears & say "don't tell me what happens."
the sacristy is waiting for us.
once the eucharist turned 
into a butterfly in my mouth
so i swallowed quickly
before it could escape.
i want someone to teach me 
how to love my own rapid uncertainty.
what am i supposed to do 
with my ankles? i wash the feet
of a demon & tell him
"i'm only doing this to make
my family upset with me."
he shrugs. it's sunday again 
& again & again & i want nothing
to do with it. the children 
in sunday school take turns
kissing in the utility closet.
a nun with a round face
admits defeat & joins the others 
in the attic. i keep a bowl
of ash under my sink 
in case i need to be reminded.
the dust can be so loud.
i peer at it & whisper "hush."

posable figure

i was a wooden darling 
on the shelf of your fascination.
i begged for you to come here & give me 
a posture. your knuckles
like skirt hems. your paper
rolled from the tree. 
the human figure is measurable.
a series of careful spheres
stacked one on top of another.
you foraged for my geometry.
pulled my nose from the grave.
sharpened a pencil 
with a steak knife & put
a thumb to my mouth. 
all the lamps in the world 
own your secrets now about shadow.
i'll keep my head lifted
so you can scoop the dark
from beneath my chin.
how did you know you wanted
to be a puppet-keeper? i knew
i wanted to be a figure 
from as little as a twig. i stood still
in the woods, hoping 
to be turned to stone. 
keep me this thin & believable.
make a beautiful portrait of me
with the long hair i don't have.
shave me down to the elbows.
leaning on tables. writing 
an iris on a napkin & wiping 
your mouth with it.
the truth was my femur.
all the bones inside a blue.
what will you use to measure
my wing span? you spend
too much time staring the ceiling 
to pieces. i want you 
to crave that image of me.
stay up all night 
to get me perfect. discover me
in the depths of your own mouth.
pluck my leaves from the floor
tracked in the house 
by your own aimless shoes.
oh, will you keep me then?
will you try again. move me,
i want to mirror 
the fancy dangling behind you face
like a scheme of vines. 

a map of yesterday & last year 

i've been curtain frolicking.
now you see me & now the living room
is severed in two. i'm stealing ice cream
from god tonight & not caring
what his plans were for it.
a great party is being postponed again.
the boy with the flute is queer
& i love him so i dm him on instagram 
but he never responds. how does anyone
find the right angel? i have tried
harvesting feathers from 
the graveyard. my dog's teeth fall out
one by one. i'm saving them
to construct a backup dog.
the machine knows my name now 
so i walk the supermarket with 
a black bag over my head, 
feeling the apples to make sure
they're good & glossy.
the execution was seamless. no one
noticed a thing. winter dries 
my heart out into an apricot thumb.
how long do frogs sleep? gnats?
the rash always forms in the shape
of pennsylvania. little geographic
reminder. nothing is real 
but especially not states.
a cake in the shape of rhode island 
arrives on my back door step
& i enjoy it with a tiny spoon.
birds are singing in a dead chimney. 
i make an extra place setting 
for the bear i'm afraid of.
he sits down & eats with perfect manners.
here's my grandmother
coiled like a metal spring 
in the living room. i tell he
i need my own space-- that i'm not
that kind of grand child.
she leaves dolls on every shelf. 
i've taken to bathing 
in boiling pots of water.
tuck my knees in like
the other eggs.
the tub is full of oranges anyway.
when you arrive, will you 
check on this mirage?
shake me like a tube of sand.
there's a gold ring somewhere
i'll be stepping through
to make an exit. 
tell jupiter i'm sorry. tell the backdoor
the cake was delicious.