orion teach me 

string taut between
two fingers--
Orion take aim--
i want to learn
how to shoot a bow
& arrow with the
same kind of precision
as a boy who
wears stars for 
a belt--
zeta, epsilon, delta--
has your anger
diminished over
the years?
faded from
centuries of
hunting or have
you burned yourself
hotter as a body
without a landscape--
you touch me &
my skin ignites 
into dust--
spiral down in
me-- the matter
of the solar system 
is only
a merry-go-round--
a carousel of 
light making bodies--
making hunters--
what beasts
do you aim at?
what lovers?
when you stepped
back down to earth 
& flung rocks at 
my window i almost
didn't recognize you
without all the 
commotion
of the night sky
but it was you
alright-- 
chest bare--
ankle deep
in the snow--
following 
footprints to
the back porch where
a girl 
wrapped in
her green bathrobe
puts out a cigarette
in the stoop
& slips in
the back door
when she sees you--
there's no hiding
the kind of fires
in your hair--
i'm not asking
you to love
me i'm asking
you to teach me--
i want to 
learn how to
pull back the arrow
like you do--
how to fight
scorpions--
how to banish
the cold
from my flesh--
reject ground &
earth--
fix myself
steady 
in the night--
you know i have
been watching
you since the first
time not father
put me on his shoulders
& pointed to
stars-- you
were the first
one we found
& he told
me about
your red giant--
about the maroon
blood star 
vessel bursting
from your arm--
does it hurt you?
do you feel it
when you head in
for sleep--
when no one's eyes
look up &
you can rest--
curled up
at the feet
for bears &
crustaceans--
you can sleep here
tonight you
know? there's
enough room on
the floor by
my bed -- you can
rest here--
take the night off
from all the foot prints
& the ache of
firing arrows
into the 
void mouth of
innumerable monsters--
tell me
orion-- am i a monster?
the kind 
who would feel
an arrow if it
were to be shot
through me-- sometimes
i feel numb--
like you could
skewer me &
i might not notice--
oh please
keep me company--
i'll pull
open the blinds of
the windows--
you can point out
where you usually sit--
the big empty corredor
of stars--
we can take turns
throwing
rocks at windows--
crack glass--
we'll be careful--
we'll get to bed
in time
for you to 
find you way home--
you sit behind me--
take my hands in
yours &
help me pull back
to the arrow--
we aim--

a poem for the tree outside your apartment--

crack sidewalk--
shatter asphalt-- 
i want to highway-fracture
-- reject 
the limitations of my 
gravity like
the maple tree kicking
herself deeper
into the throbbing
street-light heart
of the city--
there are at least
10 red lights &
6 stop signs 
to get out of this city
& each one is another
invitation 
to stay-- live
entangled in the 
soft reverberations
of your skin on mine--
knot me in root & gravel--
i want to know
if the tree has any 
intention
of walking home--
i want to know 
if you have a pair
of scissors 
so i can cut a few
miles off this highway--
tie exits together
to take away some
of the miles between
me & you--
28-- there's exactly 28
miles from
me to you &
it's snowing right now
so it would probably
take longer
than usual
& that tree submerged
in the sidewalk 
is probably peering
in the windows in
the hopes someone
will let them inside--
offer them a cup
of early grey tea
to un-thaw their limbs--
where do you keep
your green in the winter?
i don't want
to be clouds even though
i'd like
to take more
time to look
at them as they
tear out their
own hair with
admiration
for the wind--
do you ever feel
cloud-like?
i want to sleep
in with you till
the sun gives up
on us & invites
the maple
tree to kneel--
to take a break from
standing so
tall for so long--
you dig up
the quiet in me--
the patience 
for merging onto
another highway--
praying to a 
headlight--
i'll text you when
i get home-- i'll
let you know 
i'm thinking of
you in my own
bed-- arms across
my chest 
sarcophagus-sleep
with me--
chalk write my body
on the walls--
my poems rub
off to make room
for more--
none of the 
ones i write
for you are finished
yet-- 
i'm here
questioning
the rebellious
tree outside
your apartment
if i could
have asked for
one more kiss 
before you 
walked back
up the street--
even your shadow
is too damn beautiful--
i regard the
radio tower lights 
in the distance
as red 
red
angles--

alternate uses for wedding dresses

1
snowflakes--
this is what scissors
are for-- for
making cloth into
water crystals--
veil after
veil-- make
me a promise--
just one
2
what are you 
thinking about?
3
a sleeping bag--
the backseat of
my car has
been a living room--
take your shoes off
at the door
4
become a cloud
& let the children
point at you
& guess what
animal you are
5
paper napkins 
for our laps
at the diner where
the biplanes 
turn into
angles out
the big glass windows--
dad doesn't notice 
6
parachute
off the arm  
of the sofa--
off the knee of
a horizon mountain--
call the rocks
'grandfather'
7
communion dress--
8
ice the birthday
cake-- take
the corner piece
for yourself
9
table cloth me
with your elbows 
10
come out of the 
dressing room--
show us
11
curtains-- 
light bleeding
through your 
skin-- what good
is blood
when all it
does is escape 
12
tourniquet
at the thigh--
you are
an atrophy-- 
a frayed wire
selling smoke--
burn down
the fire place
13
kindling-- 
1
has someone else
worn my mom's
wedding dress?
were they in
love or fear?
2
what are you thinking
about now?
3
wrap yourself
tighter when you
sleep-- make
use of your tongue
as a bow--
4
when you rain
make it sleet
so they know 
you were dirty 
5
wear reds lips
wipe off
your mouth--
leave it on
a napkin in 
the bathroom 
for another girl
6
if you happen
to experience
flight don't
tell anyone else--
when you land
you will be
on the other
side of the boarder
escape
7
cross yourself
8
lick icing from
your fingers
9
break the list--
fold it into
a paper airplane--
10
follow
the bread trail
Amelia Earhart 
left when
she turned into
a wedding dress
1
i'm telling you
this so you
know all there
is to be done
with spare white
clothe 
1
i'm telling you 
this because 
i have scissors 
& a mountain &
a mouth 

overdue

when i have
no where else left
i can rest i
will come back to
apologize-- crawl
hands & knees into
the return slot
at the library up
the street from 
my parent's house--
the library where
i'm terribly overdue--
rubbing stamp
faded from
my spine-- 
can you still read
the date i was
supposed to come
back?
somewhere 
in june 2012--
dead of night 
when the angles
walk on the fourth floor
& the children's books
flap their pages
in an attempt to
perch on higher shelves--
i put my finger 
to my lips to 
hush them as the romance
novels try
to serenade me &
i explain that 
i'm "mostly gay" &  
am uninterested in
what they have
to offer-- 
i use my phone as a flash
light-- 
the water fountain
will offer to baptize 
me before
i go to sleep--
i want to feel as
light as a paperback--
i didn't mean to
to be away so long--
i meant to return myself
years ago on
one of those haphazard 
afternoon
when i drove back
to kutztown--
i'm in
the process of
digging up roots &
finding clay pots
to re-plant them in--
each time
i come back i find
more-- in the carpet
of the dollar tree--
thick veins--
hear beat beneath
the sidewalks--
this town throbs
in me like 
bruise-- 
sky turning egg plant
out the windows--
is that the sun coming 
up  already?
i find a shelf to
curl up on--
back towards
the room like
a good book-- i'm
near the cook books
& one aisle over
i can make
out the monsterous
body of the encyclopedia
growling--
hungry for
more definitions--
he bites
down on the dictionary--
bleeding nouns--
black letters on
the blue carpet--
i know it is best
to stay still so
as to not disturb
him as he works--
who knew the acquisition
of language
was such a violent
task-- a page
turned scar--
i rest my head
on the shoulder
of the book beside
me & she laughs--
she kisses my forehead 
& recites
a recipe for
tikka masala-- a lullaby--
i put my arm
around her &
turn to one of
my poems written
on a rib--
she adores it--
she tells me i should
sleep & 
in the morning
i'll wake up to
the sound of lighting
gradually 
turning my
pages
yellow & brittle--
the dictionaries
say their prayers
as i turn
to my flyleaf
page to rest--

i wouldn't trust me
with time travel--
to be honest i wouldn't
trust me with most
precarious situations--
i empathize with
jenga-- see how
high i can get before
we laugh away our
knees--
i smudged 
the camera lens with
my thumb--
i smeared the 
concept of time in 
the process--
took the clock
hands & told
them to hold me
down-- pull my hair--
i used to hate
that-- it used
to make me feel
like a horse--
foaming mouth
& fistful of
reigns-- i hid
my hooves in sneakers--
time was always
a mess anyway--
i've been replaying
the sun coming
up again & again--
rewinding my own
chest rising
& falling as i sleep--
i often forget
the keys to my
skin-- sit here
on the coffee table--
blanket over my
shoulders-- 
i'm trying to 
talk nicer to myself
you ruin everything
you sometimes
cut forever into
pieces to make a scrap
book--
you should do more
exercises in sets
of 10-- 
you should think
of something 
kind to say-- 
i can hear you
telling me to
treat myself gently--
i'm not a gentle
person--
doesn't it
ever get tired of
raining?
i wear my shoes 
down-- a kind of nervous
erosion--
i empathize with
the Appalachian 
mountains--
getting so tall 
just to weather
themselves down--
i remember in
7th grade when they
told us they're
shrinking i
realize that
someday when we're 
all very very dead
there will be 
a slightly raised 
terrain 
the once shrugged
its shoulder for
me to climb on--
i don't think
time makes you 
love someone-- 
i dated the idea
of a boy
for 3 years--
walked up to north
look out-- hand in
hand & i wished
so desperately
to be alone--
i hate you
i love you body--
even if sometimes
i'm unkind & sometimes
we don't eat breakfast
when you're supposed
to & sometimes 
we meddle with
time-- back & forth--
brushing 
our soft brown
8 year old hair-- 
eating chicken nuggets
with honey barbecue 
sauce--
i should leave
things as they
were/are
but sometimes
memories
are better when
you hold them still--
cut off the edges--
the gnats--
the blisters 
on your heels--
i wish i was 
normal
i wish i was
sturdy in time-- that
i didn't have
to worry about
running away at
night--
where did i
leave the keys 
this time? 
this is the page
where you kiss
me & this is 
the one where 
i'm trying to 
glue the hands 
back on all these
watches--
all the loud
red digital
clocks just read
infinity
& yes it's 
my fault

this is a 
picture of us
*
sun in the windows
*
bodies
evading light
*
together 
unmeasurable &
instantaneous 

INTO SHAPE

disciple-me 
exercise video--
my god
was a five pound 
weight--
she cut her body
from a piece of
purple construction
paper--
10 minutes abs--
15 minute tone & sculpt--
give me give me
20 minutes everyday--
get your body ready
for the ocean--
ready for the wedding--
naked ready--
love me ready--
what are you getting
your body ready for?
give me 30 more
seconds--
hold hold hold for
me-- you want
those arms-- those
thighs--
don't treat
your legs like
a bible you
shelf-rest
& pretend that you
open--
read me a psalm--
are any amoung you
suffering?
they should pray--
i want to be 
this year 
i want to let 
the voices dictate
themselves--
exercise the silence
& the air--
the ones who eat
charcoal & 
infect my body 
with numbers--
i am your OCD dreams--
assembly of
mechanisms-- i 
designed myself to
be contained-- oh 
please i want 
your to  
spill me 
i want
to be scattered--
i don't want
to have a shape--
maybe i'll collect
as the rain water
does for
shoes to 
step in-- i'm
deeper than it
seems-- this puddl
goes down 
to the trench--
down to the 
jagged fins
of angler fish--
grow me gills &
i'll breathe fire--
i was a fist
of sand--
an hourglass 
unmaking itself
into a dune--
this is a prayer
to all humans
who want to
be owners of
bodies rather than
be owned 
by parameters--
what is your circumference
anyway?
your width?
you surface area?
take my geometry 
with you--
i could be softer--
more inclined to
sleep--
the carpet
was only
a roll of wrapping
paper
to be torn
open-- what
kind of body
do i have 
waiting in the wings--
meandering--
come forward--
there are bones
here--
they have
always been yours--w
i want to find
a shape that
is ours--
oh cascade me
skin--
i keep waking up
in the glass
of water
on my end table--

how do you fall asleep?

while the ocean
is busy making blankets
only to unravel
them in foam--
while orion wears his
belt of bottle-caps
& soda tabs--
we will inevitably 
be found 
with your eyes 
busy stealing so
many stars--
what kind of
fire are you?
& what kind of
water am i?
skin becoming
the soft stones who
rest in the clay
of the creek--
i don't trust
winter anymore
or rain
but i trust sleep
next to you--
nestled
somewhere
between 
currents--
did you know
the universe is
one big pond--
comets growing 
webbed feet like
tadpoles--
let's wake
up on the surface
of the moon--
look for rivers
to walk in

you made a casual apocalypse 

today is the apocalypse--
the end of everything--
of course
it'll pass like it
always does &
i spend most 
days thinking about
how close i am to
becoming an ending
that a sky of
fire does very little 
to shock me-- 
i make
coffee-- tear two
yellow sugar packets--
stir--
i ask the sun if 
she's getting up
or if she's resigning 
to be grey today--
i don't mind being
grey-- it's
the big finale
anyway & last night
i felt you
kiss me the whole
way home-- 
reckless-- i closed
my eyes at stop lights
in the hope of
falling asleep
& conjuring a dream 
of us--
your lips soft
honey-bee wings--
the steam
sneaking from
the rim of 
my mug of tea-- kiss after
kiss--
chapstick
leaving the gentle 
illusion that
you are coming
home with me--
i accidentally
kiss the steering
wheel-- cold--
flinch at the 
blare of the horn--
back to the apocalypse--
i'm not shocked
by this kind
of thing usually--
not by four horseman
or the crackling
streets--
i pull the blinds
closed
to keep  out
the glare of the fire--
it's best to
not give it any attention--
best to just 
let the world work
itself out--
i take a run &
think about how
maybe if i added up
all the miles
i've run this week
i could easily
have run all 
the way to you--
i would be tired
but it would
be worth it for
the romantic gesture--
i'm a mess as
you can see-- laying
in bed last night
i thought i was still
in my car & 
i reached for
the parking break--
i could feel
you reach for my hand
& we lined them
up palm to
palm-- oh 
how you make
mirrors to be broken--
park the car
on the ceiling
where it won't
come down--
gravity relinquishing
her hold on
the fading planet--
under my covers
i begin
to levitate-- lifted 
by the mischievous 
hands of angels
they're 
overcome with 
fear-- 
i fall asleep--
thinking of floating
down a river--
clear & full of
sun beam-- 
holding you
is kind of 
like that tension
at the surface of
any body
of water--
clear water lakes 
& tadpole 
pools in April-- 
the thin layer
on the surface 
that water bugs
skate across--
oh how 
i want to 
fall in
please 
kiss me again

cherry-tree buck 

i didn't feel the entry
point-- not at first--
yelp of your gun--
echo-- flush of
birds in all different
directions--
drop feathers like
snow-- trees raising their
arms in prayer--
oh spare me god 
of gunfire--
the forest
smoked around me
with the eagerness
of your trigger--
you replaced your
bullets with 
cherry pits &
called it love--
taught me to tie
knots
in the stems--
barrel pointed 
at my thought--
a joke about how
easy it is to find
ammunition & how 
even innocent cherries
could betray me--
stain my fingers--
is this blood or
juice? you
were the one
who told me to wear
white-- smudge 
soil-- my antlers 
caught again in the 
tree limbs--
snagging comets--
singed on stars--
somewhere in california
the whole world
is burning-- it's
only a matter of
time before it 
gets here & there
will be nothing
a little boy with a gun
can do but shoot
the deer's skull
full of cherry pits--
sprout from
my forehead-- roots
digging
down deep through 
my shoulders--
have you ever
bore the weight
of a planet?
have you ever 
held the body of
a tree? drop
your leaves for
me-- this is january 
& we are supposed
to be kindling
& here i am--
your cherry tree
buck-- trunk bursting
from my bones--
too heavy for me to
move-- the forest
floor will treat me
better than any
hunter & his son--
voles & squirrels
come out of curiosity--
scurry across
my chest-- check
to see if i am
in fact still alive--
they can tell i'm not
but they're eager 
for the tree to bear
fruit-- they congregate
in worship for
roots & the hunter's
creativity 
to use cherry pits 
for gun fire--
another prophetic 
man-- the spot
where the tree 
grew feels vaguely
like the course
hand the priest
making a sign
of the cross in
oil our holy water--
it haunts me alone--
like god is teasing
me one last time
with his phantom thumb--
come march i ache 
for water &
eventually i give 
in &  pray  for rain--
& it comes--
metallic tasting--
trunk too massive
for me to move--
you came back-- 
umbrella & green jacket--
gun slung over your
shoulder-- searching
my branches for 
fruit-- 
fondling leaves
till you found cherries
to fill your pockets--
it wasn't enough
was it? 
are we ever enough
for each other?
tell me though,
do they taste 
as metallic as 
the rain?