a darkroom parable 
for prometheus  

worship begins with
a shut door
red air & a promise
to dip each other
in developer-- 
to be careful &
move slowly--
bring these ghosts
into being--
mother/father 
of brightness--
pulling bulbs from
the walls-- gifts
from god -- oh how
we are tempted
by light switches--
promise not to 
be naive like 
prometheus & to
pursue that which 
was never meant to
be ours-- 
oh what kind of boy
are you without
a ceiling over
your face?
this water was 
thick with body--
elusive camera memory--
i forget what
our pictures will
be of--
& there you were
as i developed you
& in the dark 
we exchanged names
& you pleaded with
me to stop--
to tear
windows
in the blank walls
to stop now
while fire
was still something
we could steal--
i wade into
the tray-- chemicals
up to my shins--
one step foward
into frame--
there me & you--
two strangers
on film-- the 
trees being born
for the first time
around us--
i ask you 
what they call 
you & you say that
you haven't got
there yet &
i say me either--
oh wait for the
world to become with 
me-- become 
stone benches & 
brick pathways & 
don't ask me for
windows-- we are patient
humans-- ones without
such marble fathers--
we bring each other
into being 
here in the darkroom--
your body a statue haze--
clay scooped from
the creek where we stumbled
barefoot as children--
got fish hooks in
our heels--
do you remember me now?
do you remember
the boy who had to
go home at sunset?
the silver lock
on his bed room door
& his scaly shingled room
we all wanted to jump from--
that's where they'll tie
me up-- call 
the eagle to swallow
my liver once 
we finally come into
focus-- isn't
that how it always ends?
tied to one's own
roof-- watching the 
vultures merry-go-round
high above &
someone will say something
about how they must have
found something
dead-- dead dead darkroom
lover let's not
leave-- begin
the pilgrimage home
to the negatives where
we can be small &
unknown &  wait
for a more eager
god-- i was
not ready for this--
i was not ready to stand
next to you 
in your jeans & 
wrinkled grin-- whose
brother will we be?
should he have stolen
us fire?
he-- yes i'm talking
about prometheus again--
i want to know 
if it was right
be for me to steal
you like this from 
darkness-- 
will you steal 
me if i steal you?
hold me up & believe
me black &  white 
& grey scale--
hide me from 
the eagles-- 
no we cannot have windows
not yet 
not yet
we must be silent--
let the darkroom
creep its hands over
our mouths--
don't scream-- this
is what it's like
to come into focus--
worship begins
with the sacrifice of
windows--
oh prometheus--
prometheus--
we scream--
stir in these
almost bodies--
there will always
be that impulse
to turn
yourself over
to the sun--
it matter only
who you become--
a girl-- ankle
deep in chemicals--
waiting for
dusk 

this is not a drill

this is not a drill
this is me pulling
my own body's fire alarm--
skin wailing
red-- the bells
burst out of
my jaws-- there
are sirens within us
that cannot be held
by the softness of
skin-- the scream
of bone marrow
& flash of light
protruding
from my mouth 
this 
is rushing out
on the front lawn--
sitting in
the dew-slick grass--
blue boxer shorts
wet feet--
i turn to look
at the body i run
away from & there
she is-- 
hands folded over
her chest-- 
asleep--
a pharaoh-- anubis
looming in a 
gray static cloud
waiting to 
begin by removing 
the heart-- 
you tell me
that you left your
laptop on the
night stand
& you want
to go back inside &
i tell you that
the fire alarm
is still laughing
& it's best to
let the joke play out--
smoke from my nostrils--
how can you stand
at a distance
& watch a body beg
for your return?
she opens windows
unlocks the cellar door
but out here i don't 
have to feel
the throbbing
of my own anxious
heart-- there 
is no fire-- no
oily mirror skin--
no bite marks from
match sticks--
no top drawers
of desks-- 
i'll stay out here &
the moon will wash me
in cool white water
& i will test
how far away i can
walk before
i start to feel
faint-- all
the way up east nineth
avenue to the little
park with a pavillion
& the purple
jungle gym
that i'm too big for--
i will still hear
the sirens from there
& know that there
is only so far you
can walk away 
from your veins
before
they take you back--
wool & course--
knitting you home--
has someone come
to put out the fire?
there's a child in
the second floor
bed room & she 
is not done believing
in the loch ness monster--
go get her first
stand back while 
the fire men climb
you arms-- hook
ladders to your ears--
your mouth--
break down the 
doorway of your eyelids
& they see no fire
& they are dissapointed
because they were hoping
to see a fire
as everyone is hoping to
see some sort of fire 
when the arrive to
the scene of a 
screaming body-- soul
detached & drinking
moon water in waiting--
the fire men give up 
& go home-- angered
by the absence of
flame-- little
girl from the second
floor bed room
slung over one
of their
shoulder-- they 
set her in the grass &
take turns wondering
what has made her lips
to blue  & her skin
so waxy--
when they leave
i walk up to her--
run my fingers through
her knotted damp hair
& tell her that 
i'm going back-- that
i promise i'll go back--
grab my arm-hair
to hoist myself up--
i'm taking us
home-- smoke alarms
& all--
in through my mouth--
we walk across my
tongue & i taste
the fear & melancholy 
of the thin
soles of my feet--
let's be swallowed
together
in flashing red &
imaginary ignition--
the process of
breathing smoke 
begins with accepting
the grey air
& then becomes
a game of how
desperately 
you want to inhale--
you're letting
out the red-scream
you're releasing
the earthquakes 
from your lips--
she's asleep now
again
in the second floor
bedroom--
what good are the fire
fighters when
don't believe
your smoke?
as always this was
between us

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--