the sky is blue

how many people
have told you why the
sky is blue?
it's the ocean 
of course-- her
mirror hanging above
us--she touches 
her face-- 
concealer
& blush &
black winged eye-liner
flying south for
the winter--  
gossip of the geese--
at night-- covering
her face with 
a black veil-- she sobs--
eye-liner down
her cheeks
she breaks at the sand
bar & weeps
i'm ugly 
i'm ugly 
i'm ugly 
& i perch-- 
bare feet-- wet
sand & i tell
her that at night
no one really
has a face-- 
i show her mine--
blank in the rays
off the moon--
ocean spray 
caress--
thumbs across 
my cheeks--
she says  
God was cruel to 
give us reflections
& i try to see
myself in her water--
kelp-- shattered shells--
ripple on ripple--
she is making
the sky too dark--
i'm relieved to
not have a mirror--
they're so easy to
trip into--
i see the one in my
bathroom-- fingers
on glass-- glass
becoming water--
the mirror who 
makes a face
for you to wear--
i wade in-- 
cold in her teeth--
she refuses to smile
& the moon
watches her figure
frolicking through
waves-- the moon
slips & drops her
reflection
underwater--
plummeting-- glowing
beneath the ocean's
skin
she asks
if everyone is beautiful
in the morning
& i tell her
that the tide is coming in--
up to my waist--
i tell her that
the sky is blue
because of her & 
she blushes until
the dolphins bring
back the moon's reflection
& the sun
mirror laughs herself
above us--
beaming
up at herself
the ocean remembers
the sky blue &
i remember my
freckles in the bathroom
mirror-- 
she remembers loud
enough to cox out the clouds--
she whispers
blue is the first
name i was given--
the first sound i
made when i gazed up
to see myself--
i follow the shoreline--
collecting shells
in my pockets as a way
to prove i remembered
you while i was walking--
what is love
but the act of
persistent memory--
of searching for
a blue sky to
wash your faces in--
i trace the horizon 
to the point 
where heaven & the ocean
touch-- their fingers 
intertwined--
mouth on glass--
what do we make of
the sunset then?
you're beautiful
you're beautiful
don't bother 
with mirrors
i whisper
into a swell--
she blushes golden--
purple-red-indigo--
yes please tell
me why 
the sky is blue--
she's open 
to suggestions

rook

black-white
black-white
my chest was
the chess board
& you knew which 
squares you belonged on--
what is your strategy then?
do you trust in
the pawns? 
their short
hair & daggers tucker
into their heads--
see metal-- step slowly--
they are prone to breaking
twigs & dying 
with out breath--
or do you move the knights--
you always 
were a sideways
boy--
what use is the ground
when you're a made of
armor-- no skin
underneath--
trust our subjects 
to swallow
our blood from
each square-- 
what other statues would
you trust with your
own heart beat?
there something about
playing chess that makes
you smaller-- 
the size
of a square cut out of
my own chest-- cannon 
shot-- hoof pounding on
tile--
what a quiet quiet
war we're in--
what a loud way
to trade blood--
there's something
about chess that 
snaps the arms
off the time-- ties
the sun to a cloud--
eyes open-- 
step here-- i want
to know how you 
will navigate 
each square of my
body-- what do you
know about chess anyway?
what do you know
about the rook?
there's no where left
to go but to climb--
these thick & sturdy 
walls-- these stones
arm in arm--
a boy like me-- 
there is no
door to the inside
of the castle--
war turns 
inside out-- hollow--
the world-- nothing
but a wrist-- 
an ankle-- an arrow
breaking
the glass of my bedroom
window--
that's why 
i trust the rooks
of this world-- 
the tower
the marquess-- the rector--
how many boys like
us have sat down 
& made their
love//blood 
black-white
white-black 
i always pick the black pieces
because i don't mind
waiting to
see what you do first--
i have a tendency 
to thrust love onto
the chess board 
jump over
me-- sword-bitten
queens--
oh haven't you always
been a bishop though?
our only union
is one
of our deaths--
this is what
it's like to be gods--
two rows 
of bodies-- dead 
pawns--body on body
on body--
they were just another
fortress 
& from inside the rook
i move forever
in a striaght
line-- a clear
marked direction-- 
squares beneath me
black-white-black--
& when the chess board
ends-- change direction--
you'll never find me 
here-- the only
doorway is my mouth--
checkmate--
yes checkmate-- 
there will be king
after king after king
but long after 
he is dead-- his castle
remains-- coasting 
quietly 
in a singular deadly line--
marked across my chest--
& i'll be inside--
the god waiting 
in his castle-- 
a wrist-- an ankle--
& you the side-ward 
knight will be gone
too-- knocked off
your feet & ghost
hooves on tile--
what do you know
about the rook?
pawns sauntering 
back to the front
line-- crawl-- slide
back to my corners--
this time 
you start-- watch 
out for me-- 
watch out for me
the castle 
has no door--
kiss me

my skeleton remains ajar

my eyes: glass door knobs--
behind which one is your god?
choose carefully
you only have a 50/50 chance
of opening to find him--
curtain-less window
of heaven where warm
snow collects on
the tops of your feet--
yes, of course, come
inside that's what
door knobs are for--
you don't have to take
off your shoes 
but you do have to be
barefoot
i don't believe there 
is anything
worth keeping outside of
my body--
what made you
start searching
behind shut doors?
was it the chanting
of the 
Our Father--
a pray so deep inside
you that you pray it 
with your silence--
oh you let the quiet
in-- wet & dripping--
weep morning dew--
melt-- yield 
to the call of the void
the mother language--
the sensation
of falling behind door
number 1--
you  were wrong
of course--
you would always be 
wrong--
grip the glass door knob
to keep from falling 
in-- what did you
think our lover's
bodies are meant for?
What color did you
think your god would be
when you dug him
from out behind 
my eye lids--
it's amazing
what boys will do 
with their beliefs about
virginity--
a necklace around
my waist--ring
after ring cuffing
my fingers-- don't move
you are now a bell--
oh & if i'm a bell
the least i can do
is ring the silence 
out of us
if only you would
fuck me-- but my
body was ajar-- 
blown open & closed by the 
breeze--
you made me a key
so that without you
i could could come home--
no i don't take off my
shoes at the 
door but yes
i am barefoot & when 
i grip my own glass
eyes i open to 
a tabernacle-- this is
where we drip
his blood back down into
the earth--
you don't believe 
me when i tell 
you there are parts
of myself where
there's no other 
language but that mother
tongue-- that 
wholeness of nothing--
i put my finger
to your
mouth & say
shhhhhhh listen
there it is-- growing--
it takes time--
each ivy tendril--
unlock--unhinge-- my
rib cage was a 
colander-- drain
out what's left of
your virginity
in my sink-- here's
a towel-- let's
get this over
with now-- here 
open both of my eyes
what's behind door number 2?
there it is
it's only you--
your reflection
your god-- you planted
yourself in my jaw bone
so that you could
take root--
when i stop 
loving
you i'll hold a burial:
teeth
& mandible
in the front
yard-- 
my god will 
be a crab apple tree
my soul 
my skeleton
remains ajar
for me to come
home when i please--
desperate,
you swallowed
my front door keys
oh, 
you can stop gazing
into my eyes like that--
like heaven 
is going to let 
you in--

 

*CW rape/sexual assault*
i'm bored of writing about my rapist 

i'm bored of writing about
my rapist so i'm going
to write about his desk--
his notebook
laying open-- his 
pokemon figures attentive  
in rows-- his desktop
computer skin cracked 
from all the knots in
my hair-- my body 
in his lap-- warm 
of each other's skin--
alone under my
own covers i would
fear the warmth of my
own skin-- pray that
my blood would drain
in the shower--leaving
me empty-- a 
desk figurine--
me akimbo in a blank
note book page--
write the Pythagorean 
theorem over my face--
hypotenuse girl--
bite my ears off so 
i don't have to hear 
his voice--
i'm going to write
about his back yard--
his swing set--
his gnarled trees shrugging
their shoulders at us--
the abandoning 
flush of song birds
deserters like
my own voice--
years later when you 
called me blue bird
i would think of 
his bird feeder & the seed 
spilling onto
the lawn 
& my body up against 
tree torso & 
his swing set--
& his swing set 
& wanting to sit--
have my father push
me higher & higher
until i burst into
a song bird too--
i'm going to write about
his couch &
little room there 
was for our bodies--
the creak floor board--
cool bare feet--
shoes by the door--
we all know 
rape isn't warm like
this-- 
has doesn't have a bed
post or desk with
pokemone figurines 
or a notebook of unfinished
geometry homework--
kiss collar bone full of
craters--
the evacuation 
my blood was gradual--
if i told you
maybe you would
ask why it took
me so long to notice
my own body's vacancy--
leaking out from
my ears into white headphones
strumming
my spine numb--
i want to write
about the way he grabbed 
my hair--
i want to write
about it because it's 
the one thing i haven't
moved on from--
i can say his name--
i google him sometimes
to devour each fragment
of his voice left in 
me-- each handful of
myself he groped--
yanked-- cracked 
open egg on the counter--
yolk on my fingers--
he taught me what
the bird are for flushing
& the swing is for
waiting 
but my hair my hair
a knot of my hair--
wake up--
knots on the bed posts--
my hair clung to
walls-- to desk legs--
wrapped tighter & tighter 
a noose 
hung from the ceiling
fan-- 
his hands are here now--
now without a body--
his hands come back--
searching enough of
my hair to pull me down 
into his bathroom sink--
his bathroom with
hair gel & deodorant 
by the faucet--
his bathroom where i washed
my face--
he says 
he likes my red underwear--
only the red ones--
i need more
like that--
i want to write
about my bed room
window back at home--
standing naked there
& using the window
as a full length mirror
that night when i understood
that every
part of my body was 
hollow--
i started by opening
the window--november
air--goose bumps--
i want to write about
the birds--
cardinals & chickadees &
who could forget
the morning doves--
the guilt they carry--
my voice my voice
my voice 
is there's now--
they repeat it
back to each other--
they say there was
his swing set--
there was his knotted
hair
 

r u awake?

sky stirs unnoticed
nuzzles her face into
the horizon-- draws
blanket around shoulders--
i'm thinking about
my grape vine heart &
what you're thinking
about & if you're in
bed & if you remember
what color i tasted like
when you watched the vine
grow slowly into your
hands-- wrapping
round & round--
what kind of night
is this for you?
are you heavy? do you
count your
breaths as they 
escape-- your ghosts
pressing their long
tree-limb fingers
on the outside windows--
these walls were meant to
be thrust against--
do you remember my
birthday or the number
the day was when you
first said you loved me?
do you count backwards
to try to sleep like i do?
i've been thinking
about whether or not
death would have a birthday--
i see him drifting
in the card aisle--stack of
sympathy cards under 
his arm--pursuing
the birthday cards & 
picking out one for himself
even though he doesn't 
have a day to celebrate it--
i'm thinking about how
when death comes for
me i'm going to stall by
giving him a birthday card--
maybe he'll laugh &
take me quick or
maybe
he'll bury his hands in
his face & thank me--
sobbing-- shaking the bones
of my house-- rattle--
rustle in the grape vine--
would you feel me leave
from the scars in
your palms where you
once hold me?
do you remember my birthday?
if you're awake can you
blink three times for me--
i feel you ripple
sometimes & then you're gone--
i love you now
like sink water-- a flush
of heat falling down
into wonderland--
if you're awake now
i'll meet you there--
we'll both leap
down the bathroom sink
& beneath it all
you can find me by following
the grape vines--they 
burst from my mouth
as they always  have--
feel free
to fill your pockets
with fruit-- isn't
that what love is for?
if you're awake will
you tell me how you
image death--
if you think of him
at all--
do you hope to die
slowly or do you
want to look down one 
day & be startled to
see there is no body left 
with you--
is there a God in
your bathroom
sink?
do you smell the blown
out birthday candles?
that's him
that's him--
that's death-- he's celebrating
again-- he's up
he's always up
this late at night
i guess you're not
up-- i'm not hearing you
blinking--
yes-- that's fair--
if you find God in
your sink--
send me a birthday card
i'll know 
it was you--
there she goes--
the sky stirring with
sleepless humans--
our insomnia buzz
against
her star-freckled
chest--
happy birthday 
happy birthday 

half

they say to find your other 
half-- that the
two of you will
skinny dip in each
other's irises-- that
you'll love & love
the mirror clean of
a reflection-- watch 
your own bodies become
hot hot hot-- burst 
into sun spots-- they 
say love is a forest fire
& the two of you crackle--
contort--scorch earth--
in the aftermath
the grass is dry & 
you wipe ash from 
each other's lips--
i'm not looking for
my other half in another
person-- my other half 
is volcanic-- he is dormant--
a cloud of soot
from my mouth-- this is the
kind of one true love
they told you was myth--
they told you to be fearful
of the storms of your own
body-- they told
you that there was no one
else inside you--
i laughed 
& back flipped into
the grottos of my own irises--
black water on my skin--
i wouldn't call it baptism--
this is the process
of ripping up
the floor boards--
this is the process 
of peeling off 
finger nail to make stepping
stones-- water water--
everything is water
& at the end of the stones
there's the mirror
you will trace a heart
in because humans  have
the insatiable impulse of  
drawing hearts in mirrors--
my heart fades with shower mist--
i once believed i 
could melt down
the drain in that steam--
born again week later when
i tumbled
languid into the bay--
oh what does it take 
to live a body of
water? 
there it goes-- my
own heart-- a moth--
ringing each rib
a Xylophone until
it flew out my mouth
to slam it's head on the
ceiling light--
i reach for it--
cup her between my
palms-- close my
eyes
& swallow-- yes this
is only to say 
how hard it can be to
keep my own heart
from making a mess of me--
i remember well those nights
chasing
her down main street as  
she followed the headlights
of some boy's car--
cupped in my palms she 
sobbed & my own
eyes became windows--
unable to shut--
i tried to pull the blinds shut
but the whole night was so 
so bright--
volcanic-- not ready to
erupt but full of
silent fires-- i'm laying
face up in this black 
water-- side by side
how many halves are
you made of then? 
how many grottos do 
i contain?
oh & there it goes again--
my moth heart-- echoing
inside-- museum
corridors 
beneath my flesh--
this isn't the kind of place
for visitors--
this is where i
sever-- bud-- multiply--
this is the vastness 
of my own body-- how
deep is the lake?
if i fall in will 
i sink?

growing my own skin

my veins were telephone
wires aching to 
to contain you-- travel
through me--
sounds-- echo in each
of my blood cells--
you-- the last voice
to ever feel electric 
in my body-- the outlet
on the wall wants me to
plug in-- this is
the story of how 
my blood became static
as you held me-- me 
the boy still sending
telegraphs with his tongue--
Morris code is the only
language the stars talk 
to each other in-- 
pass fingers over braille book
sky-- they 
says love is blind
but so is a voice--
i'm in the process of
growing my own skin 
now instead of 
keeping flesh in 
a small jar 
by the sink-- it's turned
me liquid-- my face
a great lake-- maybe
lake erie-- cold & 
shaped like a scab--
i peel off my scabs 
in fascination 
of my own blood-- my own
blood is a lake swimming 
with electric fish-hooks--
fish hooks for my 
painted lips-- painted
turtle promise me 
if you see me 
as a great lake on
the horizon that you'll
at least send me a telegram--
tell the stars to speak--
they dance Morris code &
i don't understand Morris
code but i'll know
by their arms raised
that they are telling 
me something about being loved--
yes, no one uses the telephone
wires anymore-- that's why
we have satellites &
that's why we have the 
wireless router--
green light blinking--
not speaking Morris code--
my wires are lonely though--
i trace each wire vein--
blue with lake water--
now if only i could teach 
myself to grow my
own skin-- i'd plant 
myself at the base
of a telephone poll--
spread ivy--grape vine--
entangle electric-- electric
from the last time
you
said you loved me--
static song bird--
robin robin teach
your throat about 
lightning-- 
my skin grows back
my skin grows back--
i've never been a painter--
i've been electric wire
ivy-- a hydrangea bush
in telephone 
rung bloom--
the bees fly into
the outlets-- pollinate--
my face painted on
with my index finger--
a jar by the sink--
the mirror is really just
a window-- back painted
black by a night sky
complete with
the chatter of stars 
whispering that you
love me you love me--
& my telephone wire
veins remember
your voice only
as electricity &
blood 

do you want a sticker?
asks the woman checking me
in at the polls
on Tuesday morning 

i voted-- 
to vote: to return--
to crawl into a booth
on four legs--to become
amphibian-- come back
my gills-- it's time
to swim-- to 
snap the flag pole
in half & call 
it an apology-- who
do we cut ourselves
in half for today? 
i cut myself in half
& called it a voice--
what kind of voice
is the salamander--
our tongues have had
a year to grow
legs & in that year 25 
transpeople were murdered--
are their bodies 
a light on a polling
screen-- i don't hear
their voices--
were they the other
half of the flag poll?
tell me if i'm a fag which
star am i? 
which light on polling
screen?
or maybe that half was 
the 261 black victims 
of police brutality--
yes whose lives are
really blue then?
blue like the pale sky
aching to rip
the flag off the poll--
burn my star out--
whichever one that is--
i voted-- i can't
tell you why i voted--
because if i didn't
i wouldn't have returned--
came back to
the same place my love/body/
poetry/song/amphibian bones/
raw-raped-hips/faggot-glory/
mauve-sky-missiles 
are taken each year to
be snapped in half--
but if you're going
to fuck me-- if you're
going to snap us
in half-- you're going
to have to look 
me in the face while you do--
i've saving each of
these stickers to tape
over my mouth
until my silence turn
rapture--
i will not pretend 
that voting is voice--
or enough to
breathe dead bodies
back into laughter
but i will keep
these stickers--
decorate my naked
skin each morning--
i voted when i woke up
today-- when i 
didn't carve my
sins into my forearms--
when i said here--
this is my candle--
this is all our candles--
breathe softly
with me-- 
i flicker--

in 7 days//on the 7th day he rested

where were you 7 days ago
when the earth was 
only a fist full of
dark//light ?

1.
God holds paint
swatches to the walls--
decides on dark & light--
holds a paint bucket
in each fist--
pries off lids with
his finger nails-- 
splatter the living
room walls
of heaven & earth--
he uses a thin brush to fling
stars into place--
Jackson Pollock style--
flick of his wrist--
there i am-- the altar
boy-- following behind
him while he dips 
the aspergillum-- holy
water holy water 
rained & then became sleet--
i can't remember what i 
did yesterday &
in one day God made 
separated light from dark--
he made the heavens & the earth--
rolled out speckled
carpet in the living room--
made windows with
a box-cutter-- waited
for paint to dry
& that was a day

2.
i can barely keep
my roof from caving
in & there god was--
tossing the sky into
place like pizza dough--
spin spinning spun--
higher & higher 
until there it 
was-- the sky 
everyone's body
has felt coming down
on top of them-- is 
that why humans are so
in love with rain?

3.
a pack of model magic--
first god rolls a snake--
like everyone does when
they first start playing
with model magic 
& then he decides
the house is nothing
with out land-- builds
a model train universe 
& leaves out the tracks--
kisses the fresh earth
& there grow sequoia & 
evergreen-- there grow
grass-- spreading &
spreading a green green fire--
& god made the continents 
& the plants & 
of course it was good &
i forget to water
my bonsai-- it becomes
a parched torso--

4.
a match stick--
god lights a cigarette for
himself & then the sun--
a white birthday--
turns on a flash light &
leaves it
on his end table for 
the moon--
what a days work?
sometimes my day
is spent just trying
to keep both the 
sun & the moon from
loosing each 
other to loneliness

5.
God wades into
the Mediterranean-- a nude
beach not yet nude--
lays out a purple beach towel--
one by one teaching the water
to breathe air--
teaching the water to have
fins or tentacles--
from the water he made
sea creatures & still had enough
time to build a sand castle--
at sunset he stomping
it with his bare feet
& laughing a thunder storm 
over head--
& i open my bed room
window to watch the sky
ache with blue veins--

6.
to the park sandbox--
the castle gave him the
idea for land animals--
their bodies born  
of mulch & dirt & 
snapped twigs-- the deer--
her eyes already flashing
in head lights--
with all the animals done  
God sat down on
a bench beneath the 
shrugging elm tree--split
the tree until it was soft
& afraid-- peeling back bark 
until she//he//they stood
before God-- naked
at the local park--
God thought it was amusing
& pretended
to just be there feeding
the pigeons
while adam & eve
touch each  other for
the first time &
are so scared of
the thinness of
their own flesh-- they're
so scared of breaking--
no that wasn't when god
made me-- i took awhile 
i think god made 
as an idea that night
as he lay on a park bench 
wondering when
the seventh day would come
so he could rest--
he watched bats glide
tree to tree &  
their shadows across the moon
made him think of me--
he saw me-- the pebble
shape of my nose--
my laugh like waves
turning into dolphin on 
the fifth day--
i don't make life
like him-- i take
out my ribs for each poem--
each poem is a man--
walking naked & 
looking to scorn me--
eat my apple trees bare

7.
rest-- 
whatever rest there could
be for a world coughing
below your feet
& god said-- i'll rest
i'll rest i'll rest now--
repeated it like a mother--
i'll just rest my eyes for
a minute &
there god came in my
bed room door &
laid on my teal  blanket 
by my bed-- shut his eyes &
said it was good it
was good 
it was good

& i don't rest
because the 7th day
is just another day--
i wake up with
words in my mouth
& the water is still
busy becoming a school
of dolphins & eve & adam
are still out their--
trying to  understand
why god made their 
flesh so so 
thin 

if i could still tune a guitar 

i would sit with
my window open--listen 
car tire hush--that would
be the E string--
gentle sighs--
orange soda can crack--
fizz-- pop-rock kiss
my face-- these
freckles-- hush hush
exhale with each strum--
i'd find a robin to
sing A string A string--
a door bell-- service
bell-- here is the entrance
to the rings of 
the tree stumps in 
my parent's front
lawn-- the ones that used to
be trees-- the cicadas 
get a string they always get
a string-- i have yet
to out run their ambient 
compositions--
D string-- thrum thrum thrum
in their gadget teeth--
what mouth does a cicada have?
what kind of mouth 
do i have? Big enough
to swallow the old rusted 
strings-- twirl fork--
it's all in the twirl--
& every time
i open my mouth now
my teeth turn into piano
keys-- out of tune &
complaining about
how discordant my sense of
sound has become-- there--
there right above 
the telephone wires-- that's 
the G string-- bird feather
fall-- twig snap &
murmur of airplane
light laughing glow--
mocking the stars with
it's emerald blare-- it
would play trumpet if
it were in band or maybe
the french horn--
sometimes i open my
mouth & i can only 
hear the sound of a trumpet
playing TAPS like i would
from my backyard--
lips against cold silver mouth
piece-- i made air--
i shook stones--
the B is elusive-- the kinds
of sounds that are gone
before you hear them--
mom dropping pancake batter
into the iron skillet--
dad's "i love yous"
thrashing on my car window
as i drive to the supermarket 
at night to sit in the
parking lot-- take in
muffle voice & shopping
cart wheel-- the B string
is the right song coming
on the radio just as you
click the knob--
you & only you there 
as a witness-- the car is 
sound proof now--you
sing along & don't know
all the lyrics-- invent
your own-- the B string--
your own laugh-- my own
intangible laugh-- a firework
shimmering out my throat--
i just want to catch it
& make it my B string so
when i feel like no
part of me will ever ring 
again i can play & play 
until i vibrate-- sing
string-- this skin
a fret board -- a railroad
track to walk my fingers
on-- there is not train 
anymore but there is tuning
pegs & my black canvas shoes--
yes the last one-- the thin
E string farthest from
all of us that is where
the conversation plays 
again & again
the one where you say
you love me & you mean it
& the only way you
know someone loves you
is if their "i love yous"
carry a tune-- they live--
swing dance with each other
the i & the love & the you--
holding hands & kissing
each other's cheeks--
i love you is a breathing
thing-- mouth in the 'o'
of love-- it's not
big enough to trip
down into-- bit is vast enough
to drop coins down--
this wishing well-- this
trembling voice-- leaves 
broken blood vessels
across my collar bone--
leaves me strummed &
shuddering-- how could i have
swallow all those string?