microwave me

on high
but first puncture
the wrapper--
let out the steam--
i'll rotate
for you slowly--
a little performance
of manipulated
flesh-- color
leaking from
my mouth-- i became
a disciple of
heat-- of transfiguration
of turning skin
into marshmallow--
i opened the door
to my white microwave
& somehow i fit
inside--
walls of a modern
art museum-- white
& groaning with
electro-magnetic 
radiation-- the white
light flushing my
lips of the last 
drops of pale pink--
there i was kissing
my hair goodbye as it
evaporated--
yank cotton
candy from my scalp--
& inside i can say that
i have at least felt warm
& safe-- i know
where the walls end &
where the grim
window opens
for your to watch me
spin for you--
your melting daughter--
wax-made lover--
are you afraid to
climb inside with me--
puncture yourself
before entering--
we can merry-go-round
together--
hold on to me tighter--
i feel myself dissipating--
wave lengths crashing
in my blood--
boil softly beneath 
the skin--
cook me from the inside
out so my blood
vessels can burst
red firework-- magenta
thunder--
for so long i have
know this microwave
as a hymnal of compulsion--
of the open door
to my throbbing
un-evenly heated 
anxious heart--
stir me with the
plastic spoon &
blew away my breath
of steam--
what doors
do you open in the
hopes of finding
your own trepidation?
what doors hold
your numbers?
count down from
30 seconds now & orbit--
tonight the whole
planet fit in
my white microwave &
the oceans
toiled red like
my tongue & the
world behind my eyes 
was a meadow
of lava-- did
you puncture yourself
before you entered?
her mothering
glow--
open me with
a gentle
scream-- blaze
of a shoreline still
quivering 
in his bones--
the marrow a kind
of burning without
fire--
you cup yourself
in your hands-- lay
down in bed--
altered & sizzling--
dreaming
of the world so 
tight & turning--
vibrant pulse of
luminosity-- my
god has a door 
green neon numbers--
another night-- another
count down from sixty--
a minute in your
face is the only
way i've found
to take inventory 
of all the corners--
all the frayed cuticles 
& irregular leg
hair--
maybe hair is
my metaphor for 
where i'm trying to
grow--
open the door
of my white microwave--
i'll be there 
turning myself 
circle & circle--
recalling the pull of the 
merry-go-round &
listening to 
my blood let
go of 
it's red color

don't talk to strangers:

keep your mouth
as a key chain-- you
wouldn't want to give 
yourself away so soon--
hold your breath &
count to twelve
when you walk through
the throngs of
the bus station--
crosswalk-- 
the food court chewing
itself into bone--
don't talk to strangers--
watch them-- study them--
collect them--
with their black handbags 
& open guitar cases &
curly auburn hair--
holding hands with
their brother--
they cross the street 
8 feet away & 
don't ask them their
name-- keep them strange
& interesting like
yourself--
the goal here is 
to become a stranger
too--
don't talk-- there's
only so many words
& i'm saving
three of them for
a friend
oh isn't 
she
just a
stanza waiting
to happen? 
don't you want
to a poem someday?
hold on to
your strangeness--
your 
strange-er-ness:
a person 
entirely unaccustomed to?
to a feeling
to a feeling or
a situation--
what are you a stranger
to? i think i'm
a stranger to
eclairs 
because i've never had
one & i'm a stranger
to canada because
i've only ever stood
on the other
side of a border
to peer over
& see a tree line &
a man on a white
boat-- clam nets
plunged into the
bay-- was he
really trying to
catch a mermaid?
i know i was--
& when you say hello
to someone 
make sure that it
is just strange
enough-- don't 
ever exchange names--
forget your 
own & have a different
one ready for
when you order
a coffee at Starbucks 
(a good place for
strangers)
& when you see me again--
mist tip-toeing
from mug-- poetry book
akimbo on 
the wooden table--
you have
my blessing
to pretend that
your don't 
know me-- that
you don't remember
how my fingers 
felt entangled
with yours-- the
bristle of
my leg-hair-- 
way the sun went
down
early on us & 
stamped our black
shadows
on the hill behind
yourself 
oh you stranger--
don't worry
don't worry
i gave up
names long
ago-- i tucked yours
away for safe keeping--
our old love
is a pocket watch--
a key 
under my tongue--
a pearl--
i kept only
some of our pictures 
& i still have
a necklace 
with a strand of
your hair stuck
in the chain from
when you laid
on my chest &
promised me that
we would have fireworks--
oh stranger
we will have fireworks 
& fireworks
& fireworks
i. a person
who does not know
or is not known--
i. a person
with whom one
is not familiar--
oh come here
be strange with
me-- we'll
write our
names
in yellow chalk
& use palms to wipe
them away
count to twelve
hold your breath
before you
vanish--
i'm making you
a stanza--
don't talk to 
strangers--
i want to hide
where
i'd least
expect
to be known

the earth is flat 

this poems is
for the person 
i was talking to
last night & how 
i wanted to stay
5 minutes longer
but my body has 
the tendency to dissolve--
& there i was diffusing
into the room 
where everyone's voices
were becoming flesh
of their own-- jostling
against me--
a voice is such a 
warm thing-- 
i saw the room
in a wide shot-- there
the black-haired boy
sitting
on the coffee table
sips a can of fresca 
& contemplates
how when he gets home
he's going to eat 
a peanut butter sandwich
& read 
William Carlos Williams 
this is just to say...
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet & so cold  
Forgive me
for leaving-- forgive
me for zooming
back farther-- for
watching myself
watch you watching 
another conversation
refract off the 
walls-- there i
caught your smirk
in my hands &
tucked it in my pocket
for later-- do you
know how badly i 
want to know you?
& the i sat &
as i dissipated
i wondered again
about if 
maybe the earth
would go flat while
we weren't paying
attention &
then on the way
home i might just
fall off--
i see the horizon
a roll of christmas
wrapping paper--
left out beneath
the tree for
my brother & i to 
find-- printed with
snowflakes & penguins--
glittering slightly--
we're not disapointed 
when we tear apart the
wall paper
to find the edge waiting
for us there--
all along we
have been living
so close to the modest
verge of everything-- 
light itself tripping
& plummeting 
off-- trees tossing
handfuls of 
brown leaves
in the hopes of
appeasing it--
there is no calming
the fringes
of this night
where the world
was a quilted square
& my mother sat criss-
cross on the red sofa
knitting me
back into place--
a home the weighty 
touches of your
voices pull fingers
through my hair--
my heart shivers--
somehow i let
it become december
& alone in my room 
i open my window
to remember again
the flat flat wrapping
paper earth--
i mark the horizon
in red sharpie 
& remind myself to
never walk that far alone
zoom
out-- the black-haired
boy
crawls into bed--
takes your smirk
out of his pocket &
it glows softly--
he smiles &
puts it away--
wraps covers around his
head-- somehow
his bed teeters 
on the ledge--
the earth--
a smaller & smaller
square to
cascade off--
waterfalls on all
sides-- he mistakes
the hush of the
water for 
cars driving
by-- their headlights
equivalent to 
angels--
i should have stayed
5 minutes longer
but there
i was-- 
descending-- your
mouth 
a moth-wing
light
still in 
smirking
my pocket 

the fearful mysteries 

this is the fifth rotation
of the owl's head-- 
the walk in freezer's
locked door-- 
your breath it's own
phantom--
& it's been one
year since
you felt the earth 
beneath your feet
reject you & turn alien
& red --
there
are always the 
fearful mysteries

1.
Mars: the red
planet 
& her unfulfilled
promise to bare children--
she waits there--
red long-hair--
dipping her feet
in the bubble bath--
she waits there 
afraid 
of the hoarse cough
of God as he leans 
over to look at her
un-harvested body--
she is fearful of
the sun & supernova
even though jupiter
tells her that it's
thousands of years 
away & sometimes when
she sleeps she forgets
so is so red & wakes
up in a cold sweat
thinking she's soaked in
blood again

2.
the dark belly
of the ocean-- 
giant squid mouth--
gaping & unintentional--
tentacles thrashing
from the shower drain--
you do not
fight them-- your know
that ocean exists 
everywhere & no where--
oh how easily you
trusted the water 
& her shriek will
burst light bulbs--

3.
the deepening of
night-- as if 
the shadows of a room
begin to devour 
each other-- 
syringe-teethed &
ravenous-- you hear them
laugh in bed posts--
you pull the blankets
around yourself &
ask to sleep so that
you can remain ignorant
to how far the dark
can eat itself--

4.
absolute zero--
the sudden realization
of your own heart
will freeze & time
will sit there full
of terror & cotton--
you are terrified most
by the fear of shattering--
of tripping
as an ice sculpture 
& your skin turning
into shards of glass
on the kitchen floor--
you-- the blue & yellow
plate-- green broom
bristles taking
you back to God--
where is God in
your fearful mysteries?
does he believe you
when you tell him
you feel like breaking
is making
you feel more alive?

5.
the silent
hush of car tire
outside the window--
who passes your house
& do they remember you
& do they think of
you & 
are they you-- eight years
from now-- wandering
again at night away from
your body--
a car ride to calm the
nerves--
will they get back
or will you remain 
straddling 
flesh & reflection--
translucent 
& tossing
stones at your own
window--
this is the thrill of
leaving
our bodies-- 
this is the fear
not being able to return

count your fears--
say them again & again--
let your trepidation
write a bible-- bound
red & frightened--
number your fears--
marker on
your wrist-- write
them into your 
pulse & when you
fear me start
with the number 1--
count backwards 
back to your
skin

the shallows

was it you 
who told me that no
one owns the rivers?
flow shallow with
me-- it's winter
& time to be chapped--
time to crinkle
with frost &
watch leg hairs
contort on the banks--
will you walk in
ankle deep with me?
the shallow water
un-cavernous &
lonely-- she takes
to coaxing sharks
from the the depths--
calls them each by name--
a razor-toothed name--
weaving between
stones--
was it you who told me
that sharks 
sometimes wonder into
the rivers?
was it me who
didn't believe you?
keep walking
we have nothing
to be afraid of-- they
know they are lost--
biting pebbles 
& thrashing side to side--
jaws ancient &
aching of museums--
they contemplate
home & how life 
was once fathomless--
how once they could not
decide which direction
to swim--
the river holds them--
caresses their
smooth smooth 
cartilage-born bodies--
the water is a greedy 
place by december--
shallower & shallower--
she wants to feel full
again--
she grabs handfuls of
tree root & dips
her icy tongue into
the sand to sing
to the ocean creatures--
jelly fish & wrecked
ships & mermaids--
skin pale--a cracking
fresco--
they all find 
narrow lives-- bolting--
smacking down
their own veins &
there i am too between
a great white shark
& a humpback whale
trickling together
down the stream a block
from my parent's house--
our ankles washed away 
in the commotion--
we held tightly to
our fins & the eyes
of the shark
watched me as i tried
to peel open
my neck to find gills--
his eyes--
stagnant & back--
the bottomless black
ocean he held in them--
he tried to swim
downwards--
into the pupil--
iris splashing around us
like a halo
& i remembered 
the butterfly stroke--
following him down 
kicking kicking
kicking
the river felt our
escape with
all the sorrow of
a waterfall--
begged for
us to come back--
offered us bends
& a breath on
the gritty banks 
near the swing sets
but we didn't look back
i asked the shark 
if he was going to eat me
now that we were
obscure & feeling
our skin/bones
come back-- 
electric & esoteric  
the depths
conceived me &
i breathed water--
he swam faster & faster 
toward darkness--
i stopped
to watch him descend--
to the other side
of his own eye--
i resurface & 
get take back my
ankles-- rest 
on the cold & cracked
shore of the river--
lips blue &
shallow--
river still
there beckoning me--
singing
oh how
i want you
to own me

topiary 

precision leaf-- 
these
our angles-- our 
round
round domes-- 
mountainous &
jutting into a shifting
blue sky-- 
where oh where
is a cloud when 
you need it?
let's
leave this world
& become topiary 
gardeners-- skilled
in the art of bending
bodies-- will
you bend with me? 
will
you take the shears 
across my forehead
until i am a more
explicit
version of myself--
the pyramids of giza 
grew here with us in green--
evergreen-- 
bury me here
where the art is
alive & you & me
have tamed the clouds--
what would it take
for the trees to reach 
themselves
round as we cut them?
as we love them into
shapes--
will the song birds
take as i form them?
their thick wings
of foliage-- tell
them to stay here with
us in the garden
where everyone 
is unambiguous & the
clouds themselves 
take orders from our
fingers-- beneath the 
cube shaped trees
we can hold hands & 
kiss exact & perfect 
& we too will bud--
thrive-- our bodies
taller & taller--
burst wild with me--
the finals act of
of the topiary gardener
is to become one
of his own children--
we: the branch bone
grown fauntless--
oh we were perfect
there & when 
the people push open
the gates & 
meander in between
these bushes they
will come & pause
before
us-- our triangular
skulls our
contours-- our margins
raising higher & higher--
they will put their
children on their shoulders
& tell them something
vague
about pruning &
the children will 
feel deep within themselves 
the yearning for
edges-- for flawless
shoulders-- 
aching to have
bark-- to be severed
in all the right ways--
they will reach out
maybe & grab
a branch-- my hand
& a breeze will
send a hush through 
all the trees--
when they leave
us we can take back
our pink bodies--
finger nails & elbows--
link arms & kiss
yes kiss again--
yes so much of topiary
is about kissing
touch skin 
in the privacy of 
our garden 
until our fringes
need trimming-- 
this is waiting
for life to become
uneven again--
this is believing
in the topiary--
the breath of
art before fainting--
wake up with cuts
on our fingers from
working so so hard
to keep our verges--
oh let me know
when you notice
me fading--
take me in your
arms father & 
make me rounds again 
or at least a plateau--
flat & arid
in the majave desert
oh what am i 
doing so green?

amputate 

you tell me
let's
sever 
from the static--
un-electric &
dull--
do you believe 
in keyboards?
the grey television
snow is coming
down hard--
hushing at the 
door frame--
count
my limbs again--
1, 2, 3-- where
are my eyelids now?
how
will you
use the glass tips
of my fingers? 
this is art 
in the making--
the first act of 
coming apart is
the sun breaking
free from a notebook
page-- God sobbing
in the cold dew--
his world so cyclically 
born-- who
will hold my
heart when 
it's time to sleep?
cup it in their
hands & plug
it into the outlet--
i don't trust
your static fingers--
sever yourself
for me if you still
believe in your
wifi woman hood--
our signals 
blink-- ripples--
meet me in the 
vivid green of
the circuit board
that i severed from--
we always come back--
our electric selves--
breathing-- the rise
& fall of chests--
inhale light--
rest your fingers
on my keys & i'll 
sigh as you type 
in me-- the click 
of sleet & tin
cans rolling in the 
driveway-- when
you watch my heart
be careful not to 
reply to her-- she
speaks a language of
charged tongue &
volatile thrash--
oh we were the only
pixel drum & there
in the dark of my bed room
you crouched in the corner--
cupping my charge--
face illuminated in
the unholy glow of
my screen-- 
when you pull out
the wires
from my blue veins
do it slowly & with
my pocket knife
that i keep in the
top drawer of my desk--
when the amputation
is over you
will be the only
one who will know
the briefness of lightning--
do you believe in 
my love for you-- do
you believe in these
bodies un-tethered 
to outlet--
i don't-- i believe 
in amputation-- in
another poem about
you holding me &
not knowing what
to do with my heart--
wondering how
long a night is
in my screen-- wondering
when you will
get to touch me next--
oh the words you
will type
in me are audacious &
lustful--
your desire echos--
amputated apparatus--
lay me out
for resurrection--
like Frankenstein's
monster-- 
you do  not truly
love someone unless
you are ready to
let them piece
themselves back together--
oh who oh who
do you call your 
maker? what
mad scientist sewed 
the first wire
& how did we know
we wanted more?
i want my heart back
now & all my chords--
you can touch me--please
please do--
rest your fingers
on my keys &
lean in-- caress the
timid incisions
where my skin
cracks into screen--
i hear you there--
spilling from
the outlet-- 
if you want i'll
hold your heart
tomorrow
night-- keyboard
click-- tree branches
smack windowpane--
i love my body wide
& password craving--
i love my tendrils
tearing through 
plaster & wood--
i love the
the satellite 
blinking beneath my
tongue--
that's the green
flash you 
see when you
kiss me--

diy holy water 

1.
love yourself pink &
naked & soft--
immerse 
in the bath tube water--
make enough room
to swim & butterfly 
stroke to
the bottom of
the deep end--


2.
chlorine sting
in your eyes-- you
watch a thousand bodies--
it's summer & the water
is crowded--
you wrinkle--
you're all there
to make this water holy

3.
come into the shower
with me-- feel how glossy
we can be-- blown 
glass lovers
in the mist-- wrapped
in plastic curtain--
push me up against the wall--
baptize me
in your mouth--

4.
we humans & our bodies
of water-- the moon
pulling blood-- tide 
rising-- i wanted
so badly to
be holy for you

5.
black tea bleed me--
steep in the 
chipped blue & yellow
coffee mug-- the
water is murky--
i can't see my own
legs--
any of our legs--
steam sigh--
pull my hair
like the string 
of a tea bag--
lift me--

6.
dropped into
the stream-- i shattered
on rocks & 
watched the glass
be re-used as the 
windows 
of a cathedral--
when no one is watching
kneel down & drink
the water from the
creek-- it's as 
pure as you'll ever
be-- 

7.
when you find yourself
surrounded by 
the oscillating
bodies
of the jelly fish 
it is time to remember
the foot prints of
hymnals-- how you 
mouthed the words
to every song--
don't call for
him-- he is already
reborn in riptide --
he is too busy with
castles

8.
splash your face
in the sink-- drip 
& wake up again 
in water 

9.
when you open
your laptop 
in the morning
touch the screen
& watch the light
ripple-- oh this
oh this oh this
is your water--
fall in-- 
you are so bright
& your arm bones
were made of 
a black keyboard--
type love poems
into the water--
make it holy--

10.
do it yourself
holy water-- don't
trust the baptismal 
fountain-- with it's
belly-up flies &
trickling--
how many legs 
are beneath the
water? 
step in & find
out-- they keep the water
warm-- 
fill your pockets--
take the water home--
drink-- remember
the depths of
your own waters--
remember how easy it
is to kiss something
holy-- remember yourself
glossy & vaporous--

1.
love yourself pink
& naked & soft 
let's make this
water holy before
it falls--

locate your exits
& your neon blood

was it your who
poured neon into
your veins & bent
yourself into
an open sign?
was that all for me?
when you enter a
new space you
should locate your
exits-- 
red-- stamped
onto the doorway--
this is where you
will run away from
on the way home
last night
every single stop
light was red &
i felt like
god was trying to 
tell my something
about needing to
run away more slowly--
a process &
there-- face under
the red light of
god i thought about 
how red every night
is twinkles with the
lights of fire engines
laughing to each other
across the 
flat earth-- oh
the flat flat
earth-- i'm driving
towards the exit
sign hung beyond the
next mountain--
towards the outskirts
of my own body--
the tips of
my fingers-- the glow
of veins beneath 
skin-- 
by the time i 
was six i knew i
wanted to glow like
that & i asked my
uncle how they make
those neon signs--
he taught me
to blow glass &
swallow iridescence--
glow-stick boy
hung beneath the
stop light-- i grip
the steering wheel--
heart luminous--
a lantern swaying--
hold me by the handle
& hang an exit
sign 
about move forehead--
i grip the steering
wheel & resist the urge
to pray--
i ask god what he means 
by the stop lights &
if the randomness of
the universe could
succeed in holding
me so still without
the work of god--
god-- the yelp
of the sirens rushing
around me--
heart swinging--
& you weren't
there but
i wanted to call
you at that stop light--
wake you up &
ask you what you
think about at stop lights
& you'd see me
glowing
from miles away
& wonder what on
earth i might think
about at stop lights-- 
i'll never tell
you--
that's for another poem--
here i drive
sky horny & florid
he said
that neon gas is
poison-- that there
are only so many shapes
& so i curled up
in the passenger seat--
opened the glove box
& took out the user
manual for the car as if  
it were a magazine--
paging through the
instructions for
my body left there by
god-- the blue prints--
here is where his
heart will pivot on
him-- here's is
the fault-line--
i wonder if you will
still love me all
the way out to my 
finger tips-- i'm
waiting here 8 red light
away from oblivion--
locate your exits 
before you drop into
sleep
& when you come 
to the stop light--
make him wait before
you pray to him again--
the prodigal son 
with the sky in
his thumbs-- red red
as stopped blood
& neon--
i turn green &
lush--
a breath--
a lush vermilion sigh-- 
god saying
think of me
think of me
as a an exit sign 

this kind of love sits
on the window sill &
waits to be let inside--
sings hollow boned--
sings sun birth &
stretch marks--
sings our clothing
crumpled on
my bedroom floor--
sings mis-matched 
socks & plastic
water bottle--
i sleep window-open
now-- fall out
& get up
again-- i crease
myself into a paper
airplane-- bruise
plum tree & peach skin--
i call
my brother & ask him
if he feels lonely
like this--
i'm not paranoid
you'll stop loving
me-- i'm paranoid
you'll say 
i love you without
meaning it--
that my window
will close 
& there i'll
be-- naked
& luminous in the 
heat of November--
i want to write
about the parts
of this body that
love me & 
kiss the parts that
don't--
this double-jointed
heart battering
the jukebox with
distorted guitar--
mouth rusted &
re-strung to
my father's 
four chord
progression down
the cistern--
silence is the game
of eating alone
& counting the calories
in my finger bones--
the game of wall paper
slicing-- crawling--
the underbelly of
the centipede pulsing 
my walls--
philia-- denoting
fondness--
an undue inclination--
this is the philia of 
my own body at
the windowsill--
robin read me a poem
with less about dying--
robin wake me up
in the morning
leave your feathers
in my mouth-- 
nest in the gutter
& rebuild oh rebuild
when it rains--
wash blue down
the drains--
the sky was only
another
window &
god looked down 
& wondered
what it took to make
a creature 
bursting with love
like this--
there is not enough
skin on 
my body to love
you in--
there is not enough
pill bottles
to hold my melancholia--
there is a phone call
away where you
sit on the
windowsill--
there are people
who love me
there are people
who love me 
& oh when
you kiss me 
let's fall out
of bed-- these
bruises are
only plums--