where did we park the car? meander is a word that tastes like dusk-- we parked the car somewhere near the number 17 pinned to a lamp post-- what if we never find it? walk parking space to parking space read license plates-- we forget each other's names-- naturally as you begin to loose everything once you become aware that you are dislocated-- the sensation of falling sets in & i want to ask the boy walking with me if his name is Billy & if he's my brother but i'm also frightened that i don't know him at all-- that it was just me who lost his car in the parking lot & the lamps go out one by one as if to give up on me & my search for the road home-- what happened to the road? what was i doing here anyway? a zoo? an amusement park? we came here to the parking lot to get out of our bodies for a little-- to peel up highway veins from paper map-- there he is that's god-- un-threading me-- un-stiched & coming undone in the parking lot-- shadow giant walking-- i shake the earth with my massive form-- this is the kind of earth quake that there is no hiding from-- one that breaks the earth like a host of bread-- this is my body this is my body break this in memory of me-- in memory of parking spaces-- in memory of birthday cards in my glove box-- her name his name-- this is another poem where i write the word 'body' over & over again in attempt to figure out what it means-- as if i could speak that word enough times to find my way back to my own-- my body is vapor & asphalt-- hot hot hot by the sun-- burn your feet on me when he takes your shoes-- this is me in the parking lot walking back to my body-- gripping the steering wheel of my green volvo alone-- if i had a brother he was never walking with me-- when i was little i used to wonder what we would do if we couldn't find the car-- i would image us sitting on a curb as night draped us with cool air & turned our shadows into monsters-- we would sleep there all together-- maybe in an empty parking space-- maybe just backs against street lamp-- & god would turn them off one by one until the only glow was the moon on our pale skin-- hold my hand i would say to Uncle Rich or Mom or Dad hold my hand i say to myself-- & he does-- laces his cold fingers in mine & i'm not sure which of us owns a body & which one of us is walking back searching for body or car or parking space-- bolted to the lamp post we believe in a god & the number 17
Uncategorized
11/20
dormant oh igneous me-- the fragile rock-- tonight i found myself empathizing with Mount St. Helens cough ask on my pillow & all the people ran-- scurrying like ants-- i tell them to evacuate their houses & they claim they have been here for generations & have no intention of moving now just because there is fire dormant in me-- the act of self destruction is admirable in a mountain-- so much heat-- so much magma-born pain-- what color is the fire you swallow at night before you sleep? here i lay growing higher & higher-- take me for granted as part of the skyline-- at night when the boarder of my body begin to blur into dusk i want you to purge yourself of that same fire-- doubled over on your knees on the tile floor of the bathroom-- what's it like having depression? it's like Mount St. Helens sobbing-- her body shaking & her convulsions are part of the scenery-- the tourists say-- it has been years since she erupted she's dormant she's dormant-- you can trust her-- look she climbs-- i sweaty-palm grasp the hem of the skyline-- i say this is unstoppable-- my god my god Saint Helen mother of Constantine-- build Rome for me & when i detonate rebuild me pillar by pillar-- oh Saint Helen-- of fire of fire-- what do you know about being a dormant boy? Was i your son-- constant as Constantine-- bones planted femur & fibula to give rise to the Vatican gardens where i sit now waiting for god to hold me together-- i don't mean to ask so many people if they believe in god-- dormant-- i want to know there's someone i can ask to hold off the fire-- i clutch my stomach-- furnace-- each rib crackle--burn-- my tongue tastes of ash & worry-- oh the truth is i have loved reaching-- i have loved how you small people gaze beyond your small lives & see me there stretch my arms into the night sky-- hold back my hair while i kneel on the bathroom floor magma charred lips-- oh Saint Helen of mountain mouth of ashes-- fall down on me here-- i can't stand being so high up
11/19
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
11/18
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
11/17
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--
11/16
*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
11/15
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
11/14
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?
11/13
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
i voted
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--
Robin Gow 