several attempts at stillness 

slugs can make fine earplugs 
if you're craving silence
& there's nothing else in sight.
sometimes i feel the whole town inhale
& never exhale. i walk around for hours
trying to coax the breath out.
i once tried filling my skull
with moss. another time
i poured warm milk into an open ear.
there are places where sound
cannot reach like the basement 
& the trunk of the right car.
everything is a wavelength 
even purple. this is the extent 
of my science knowledge. 
my chemistry teacher junior year of high school
was a man with too much silence
echoing around him so he took it out
on girls like us. his mouth would open
& radium would come out. a quiz 
floating down onto a desk. 
i am still bitter about every time
someone has been cruel to me.
i keep track of them in a loud notebook.
one day, i will put the notebook
in the ocean 
& let the fish seek out revenge for me.
i am not a quiet person. there are 
yellow birds perching on each rib.
they bicker all night so i eat seeds
to try & calm them. the morning 
in the loudest time if you're someone
with the right ears. this is why 
i'm always trying new barriers.
a class ring in my throat.
a necklace in my right ear. there must
be something sturdy to block the world out.
a good firm door means nothing
in this life. a car is driving up the street
so so early. a car is always driving.
at least one to keep the rotation 
of the earth. before cars there were bison. 
in a few years this house will be so full
of books. everything one big noise.
i tell the birds to take a flight
without me.

on the 25th hour the supermarket opens for ghosts. 

flickering ceiling light. long
cold fingers. a figure 
on the ceiling. relearning 
how to sleep. the sun unfurling 
its long summer dress until it is cold
& silent. in the morning,
the birds carry packages 
from the market. i hold up a ziploc bag
full of fears. they are only trinkets.
i am a souvenir. a good momento 
from a better time when fish were not fish
& the water was 
a safe place to be.
when the clock talks 
in its bellowing sunsey voice
everyone listens & worships 
a special tree. a knock at my backdoor 
lets me know i am never alone 
not even on the mountain.
not even when all the doors 
are shut tight. the ghosts 
chew on cotton-like morsels.
their lips transparent 
& glimmering. i try to eat too
but they warn me the food of ghosts
turns one into a ghost.
this is a decision for another day
but i don't think i'd make
a bad ghost. i tell my dog it's best
not to bark at phantoms. 
a scream is an inversion 
of the self. my feet
are often made of glass. 
i sit at the window & watch
as the ghouls pass
in a parade towards the moon.
i eat with my fingers. i am waiting
for god to bestow 
the internet upon me.
aisles of green. aisles of blue
a finger to a mouth. a finger
dipped into long hair.
the limbs of trees caressing windows.
my backyard is made of stone 
& it is waiting to cradle more birds.
i twist the blinds shut
so no one has to know 
about us. the floor boards 
chirp. a toad carries a fork
in his mouth. wires. no many wires.
they purchase them & fill
in their duffle bags.
what do ghosts need with wires?
i consider following them
but then i remind myself
the color orange is meant
for people like me. 
i check my chest for welts.
none. i check my face 
for mosquito bites. i am safe.
if i am a ghost i should not tell anyone.
yes, i will keep it tucked away.
a bed sheet is waiting for me.
a shopping cart is drifting
across the ceiling.

the coming summer

excuse me while a plant tomatos 
in the carpet. 
i want to watch the tomatos as
their skins slip off like night gowns.
i peeled a clementine yesterday.
the rind became a handful of underwear
they smelled like acid. 
i ate the clementine
lobe by lobe. each turned into 
a memory from when i was an infant.
i was hovering in the air 
& escaping my crib 
to go haunt the attic.
i have always had ghosted tendencies.
in another memory i lay in the oven
& the whole family gathers around
cheering me on. they are saying
i need to rise. i was a loaf of bread.
heat climbs upward
& the top rooms of the house
are murky because of it.
in the steam i cook a bowl 
of green beans & munch on them.
sitting on my bedroom floor
i write a fire escape plan
though i wonder if i would survive 
a leap from my window. 
would i splat like 
a ripe peach? soon all the trees 
will give up on producing sweetnesses 
just for humans to make pies out of.
apple pies are never as good 
as apples. ice cream is waiting
in the bath tub. vanilla 
will once day be the only flavor leaf
& chocolate will be a legend
children as grandparents about.
if i have a garden, how long
will it take before the vines
start planting me? start with one tomato 
& the next thing you know 
you're handing your teeth over
to a cabbage. fall will be here
soon enough. winter will come next.
the snow will carry flowers 
in his hands. a parade of crickets
will march 
down the hall. i will join them
& they were say
"you have survived so much"
& i will tell them to hush 
& eat a tomato.

my dog is trying to write a novel without my help. 

i hear her a night 
openning my computer & walking back & forth 
across the keys. the humidity is returning
with its thick fingers. i find dew
in my own hair as if i were a field.
a daffodil sprouts from my chest
like a new limb. should i cut it off
or would i get blood all over?
someone is going to be president soon 
& i am scared of all the history 
we're making. i used to want to
write in a vote for president. i might
write something like "mickey mouse"
or my brother's name or "satan."
a pencil falls from the sky
& tells me to sign my soul away.
i do it because i'm bored.
i wish i was a vampire this morning 
so i could pretend to sleep longer
& so that my blood itself 
would keep me cool. an air conditioner
is waiting for all of us in heaven.
i take my shirt off & lay in a bed
with no blankets. they say
the sun is cooling. i start to wonder
what would happen if it went out.
how many of us would survive.
certainly not me. what would we do 
on a dark cold planet?
a flashlight is a kind of promise.
i put the batteries under my tongue
to keep me running. lately my dog's writing
is better than my own. her novel follows
a young girl who is slowly turning into 
a dog. i tell her to keep writing
every single day. my dog is
determined. when she wins
the pulitzer she won't need me 
anymore & she will write june 
out of its sticky swelter.
a tent blooms in the yard
& i crawl inside. it's huge in there.
a circus of tigers performs.
one bites the daffodil off my chest
& the amount of blood reminds me
of one period i had that went on
for almost a month. blood reproduces
like rabbits. rabbits are writing
sonnets these days. they are
encroaching on my turf. then again,
the more sonnets the better. i eat grass
& it doesn't taste green anymore
so i add salt & ask my dog to read me
her latest chapter.

2 kinds of graveyards & red birds 

in the graveyard for stray cats 
there are no tombstones 
just a field where all birds fall out the sky.
great birds too like an owl & 
a wood pecker along with 
the filler birds that have no names.
mom tells me there are red birds
other than cardinals. all red birds
are born from bondfires or 
gashes is thighs. a red bird 
comes to knock at my windowsill 
& leaves me a pocket watch &
a lock of blonde hair 
of unknown origin. they are calling for
red skies in july & i am looking forward 
to the licorice that will grow
in the front yard. 
i've started
saving my blood in jam jars
in the hopes of giving life to 
a few good red birds.
if not i will pour it in the creek
& watch it blood. the first giant squid
leaves the water & floats above town
like a great airship. the government
shoots it down, mistaking it for 
a bomber. the beast falls in a corn field
& me & the towns people circle
the squid. its eyes are the size
of our faces. some want to dismantle 
the squid & others 
want to pretend they never saw it.
the ocean is always closer than you think.
some people have never been to the beach
but the beach has been to them. 
sand under your fingernails. sand in your teeth.
the faucet pours sand until
i remind it we need water.
i fill the bathtub with water
for red birds to bathe in
& i tell them secrets. this is
a sleepover. we giggle with our 
spare throats. i tell them
we really should be going to bed
but we stay up later & later
until the sky itself packs it in.
just us in all the blankness.
in the field where the squid died.
no skeleton 
just a beak laying
in the tall grass like
a talismen. 

what kind of salt are you?

i take all my pinkness down to the quarry 
where a biplane crashed & became
another mound of gravel. 
guavas won't grow here because they 
are the opposites of stone.
i am soft & i am barely a seasoning.
in the spice drawer a moth lives
next to sticks of cinnamon.
we used to have a salt grinder
but now it's full of sand.
without salt, how can you call 
the tomatoes home? the town sits
on a broken piece of glass.
we stepped on rustied nails & felt
our feet rusting too. deterioration 
is contagious. this is why i avoid 
eating soups. a bread bowl is opening up
in the basement to help feed
the spiders. i tell my brother
if he turns to salt before me 
i will collect all of him 
in jars. he will no doubt 
be sea salt. the ocean is seeking feedback
on it levels. i tell it to stay
right where it is but it inches closer.
even the trees have begun wearing 
shorter skirts in anticipation
for the flood. i tell a weeping willow 
to cry more & use up the ocean.
there aren't enough rocks
to build another fortress. 
i am worried about how we will
protect ourselves when the moon
turns itself in to the authorities.
we are in danger of forgetting
a pot on the stove. we are in danger
of dropping a hairdryer in the bath tub.
the car falls off the cliff & before
it can smash it just transforms 
into a bolder & crashes. nature is
thick with angels lately. perched on all
the rooves in town. i waive to them
the way you might wave to a police officer 
out of fear & apprehension thinking
what are doing here?
my brother takes his hopes
to a cheese grater & they are 
bad parmesan. too salty & too fine.
i buy several bird cages
& i put salt rocks in them. they glow
without an outlet or a wire. i hope one day
they come alive. bring me 
a cardinal or a swallow or another brother
or a sock puppet or a AI.
my thumbs grow in the cellar 
without any light at all. i tell them
they are not neccessary & should return
to the center of the earth. instead, they stay
winking at me with their knuckles.
i press me tongue to a salt like 
& suppress the urge to turn into
a deer. that is dangerous afterall
with all the hunters around here.

for the butcher

i pull all the numbers
at the deli counter starting at 92.
little tabs of paper floating
to the white linoleum floor are like
dismantled insects.
i'm teaching my dog how to sleep
by laying face up 
& staring a hole into the ceiling.
i dream of buying turrets of salami.
all the meat for myself. my heart
is restless & watching a man 
slice the bologna. he moves his arm
back & forth across the slicer.
i tell him i want the meat thinner.
i want to hold the meat up
& be able to see him through it.
meat is always a kind of window.
a stained glass meat cathedral.
the body of jesus is a medallion of meat
now & for a limited time only.
a slice of my own skin unfurls 
from my face. i try to put it back
but the severing was so deliberate.
when daffodils bloom
they don't mean to return from it.
what kind of mountain will i bring
in exchange for this pickled tongue?
salt has cured everyone's sadness.
i prefer my salt crystal fine as sand 
but my mother buys crunchy large salt flakes.
i pour out all her salt in the yard
so i can begin the process
of preserving my hands.
in the street, goats are protesting 
the state of our country. they are begging 
everyone to stay in their homes.
their eyes fall out & turn to glass.
what better why to plead with us?
no one is talking about the butcher.
he loves me so much he would give me
all his cuts & all his fingers.
he leans over the counter. 
the world smells white. gloved hands.
tells me he has meat for me 
whatever i want. just ask. 
i laugh like a girl. a girl
peels out of me. she is all pale 
& sliced-chicken-faced. 
we sleep together in the back room
on a table meant for dismantling hogs.
not sex, just sleeping.
his soft dreaming weeping.
my knees on the metal table.

i hit a vein in my leg this morning

& the whole ocean came out of my thigh.
the sea urchins & the crabs & 
& the shipwrecks.
no, maybe i'm exaggerating
it was just a single red gem.
i am not skilled at the science of crystals
so i will have to hold onto it
& see if it's worth anything.
by "anything" i mean money. i'm not interested
in the sentimental worth of my blood.
i could start a gem collection
like a real dragon. i could 
plant them in my stomach & wait 
for the scales to grow. how badly
have you wanted to spot a dragon?
i once committed alchemy 
just by staring at an airplane
with all my dragon desire.
what is it about weird girls
& dragons? i shouldn't stay up so late,
it leads to me sleeping in 
ten extra minutes & then the day
is made of glass all shattered 
in the carpet. the backdoor
leads to a hole in the world.
all the air is coming out of my skin.
i am a balloon animal. i am
a clown's masterpiece. my dog 
is writing a poem that is better
than mine & the vein in my leg
is healing not fast enough.
blood on my thumb. testosterone 
smells like an old animal's fur.
at the flea market you can find
the pelts of tigers & the trunks 
of elephants. they all smell 
like a ripe needle. 
people say hormones make you
more feral but i think they make me
deciduous. my limbs are
more prone to falling off & growing back.
the forest floor is covered in
ballet slippers. the forest floor
was once a great show & is now 
taking a few years off. i am going to molt
all my feathers until i am 
your naked eagle. your best friend
was always telling lies about you to everyone.
in my dream i tried to gossip 
to win the admiration of a girl
i've had an at least ten year crush on.
she follows me on instagram.
i follow her. she turn into a gem
& i keep her though i should retrun her
to the house she used to live in
when we were small. i have 
a map of my town & then there is
the reality & they don't match up.
my fingers are all different lengths
depending on the position 
of the moon. my fingers are long & lanky
& i drumb them on the window tonight.
i creep myself out. i am becoming
a red tree made of blood.
if i could gather myself
into a treasure chest i'd barter it
for wifi & a postage stamp's worth
of silence. i'm going to live
in a different body now. 
so long, i will leave 
a gem for you.

i slept for 800 years & just woke up.

the sky is pink now or maybe it's pink
only in my eyes. who can really know
what color means to another person.
the sky might also be bruised.
birds never land.
they have evolved their legs away
& now they spend their whole life
in the air. hovering eggs. nests floating
down streams. moses was a bird like these.
my bunk bed has a heart of its own 
& it walks away with out me to graze
on the squiggled lawn. a cork screw 
is a way of life. everyone i know is not dead
they have just been turned to stone.
contrary to popular belief, stone is 
the most alive material in the universe.
mountains shiver when they're snowed on.
i climb my father's statue & tell him
i love him more than ever. it's terrible
the way i loved people before my great sleep.
i always wanted to be alone.
on the street, there are no cars
but there are a lot of ghost cars. they drive fast.
if they drive through you, a song will appear
in your head & you will not be able to shake it.
i have rock lobster by the B52s
replying in my skull. 
there is a record player in there.
dust sits on the tops of my bones.
was there a flood? several?
who can tell what a place does while
you're not working. i remember just before i slept.
we drove down 222 as a family 
& there were all these new chain restaurants.
they were shiny & freshly sprouted.
i wonder where all the texas roadhouses go
in the future. it's not worth checking.
the water is thicker now,
almost a syrup. easier to gulp
if you ask me. everything is hotter
of course. the global warming 
melts all the plastic but especially
the plastic i loved like coat hangers 
& spinning tops. stone of course,
is unharmed even by heat.
if i go back to sleep will you wait for me?
my body has been refusing to ask questions 
& has been directing me to stone slabs.
a new comandment is forming 
on the horizon. jesus is full of holes
& moses is hovering above the river.
the bible is just a ghost now.
one big ghost of thin pages.
i take a small spoon to scrape the sky.
it tastes like grapefruit & melancholy.
i used to think melancholy 
was a flavor & then i believed it was 
an emotion & now i'm back to thinking
it's a flavor. the bed is returning,
galloping on its four legs.
my heart is already there
eating a take out box from 
the texas roadhouse. i'm going
to keep plunging forward.
i hope the sky is eventually mauve.
i hope the stone melts to magma
& the mountains finally get to experience
a real transformation. i too
turned to liquid & cooled in the stream.
pillow over my head.
the sun is blinking or winking
who can know which. 

my brother throws up a brown recluse spider

replace brother with dog.
the moon wanes so much it becomes
a rock held to the side of a mountain
with great sheets of mesh. i think
ha, the mountain is wearing
fish nets. 
the mountain 
is a slut. 
like a spider,
i could be crushed very easily
by the mountain's bolders.
i would twitch like 
an antenae trying to speak
the ant langue.
about the spider, 
there is so much to be afraid of.
it crawled from his mouth 
& bit his neck on the way.
there is no antidote 
for spider bites 
you just have to give in
& become a spider. 
what if i accidentally smash
my brother? i'm sure it's happened.
in the windowsill, i found the carcass
of a dead yellow-jacket.
it felt hollow & i wondered where
the insides escaped to.
are bees full of bolders too?
i would probably thrive
with an exoskeleton.
it might be easier to persuade
my family that i'm doing alright
and i'm going to be okay.
i defered payments on my student loans
& they are becoming bolders too.
a hole in the yard might lead anywhere
but i'm too big to fit down it.
i drop blueberries inside 
& try to listen but never hear
a splash. i was hoping it led 
to a den of mermaids. 
grass is overrated. wildflowers 
are catty & always critiquing 
the weeds who wonder what the difference is
between a wild flower & themselves.
the street is a staircase
into the mountain. the mountain will
one day be too big. it will eclipse 
the sun or turn into a spider.
my brother is alright. my dog
is my closest friend. she sleep on my chest
like a conch shell.