in search of medusa

today i woke up
already feeling like
a stone so i 
figured i would
go & find medusa--

turn statue--
feel this body heavy
as it can be--

i woke up
wanting to sink
so badly--
wanting to feel every
inch of myself 
grey & ponderous--

touch me-- i'm
cold-- i'm marble 
& stone--
your daughter of
bones-- phosphorus 
femur & child
of clavicles--
oh statue statue--

i have been
told before that
medusa was an oak 
tree-- a
handful of dry leaves--
that she laughed in
the ripples of a
frigid late-autumn 
stream--
there--trickling
down from a gash in 
my knee--

i tripped
& broke like a 
white carton 
of eggs-- sticky
in my own hands-- these
yolks-- these un-used suns

& some people
say 
medusa takes walks
by the creek--

some say she works the
drive through window
at McDonalds--

others claim they have 
heard the hiss of
her serpents as
she paces library
shelves-- 

she's just
been searching for
a place she can be
less of a burden--

her snake hair 
bites air-- sometimes
even her own face-- 
fang marks on 
her cheeks--

oh they call her hideous--
winged female monster--

& she reads about
herself 
from a big book
of mythology in
one of the comfy chairs

in farthermost corner
of the library
next to musty encylopedias
from 1986 &
maps with sea monsters
snarling
from each corner--

i approach
her cautiously--
put my hand up to calm
one of her snakes
only to 
be bitten--
i lick the blood
off my knuckle

go
she says 
go
you don't want to
be stone--
i promise you--
you don't want to 
be stone--

i tell her that 
i already feel 
so heavy--
that i already 
feel the carpet as
the ocean & i sink
& sink & sink--

sinking
past the ghostly hull
of the titanic &
amelia airheart's 
plane & atlantis's
bright city lights--

i ask her
if she can see 
me sinking

medusa-- she doesn't 
glance at me-- she
glues
her green eyes 
to book page--
she reaches out
clumsily for
my hand-- 
we interlock 
fingers--
she points to a line in
the text

"Medusa was beheaded  
by the hero Perseus--
her head retained the 
ability to turn
it's onlookers to stone"

i frown-- close
book--
i tell
her there is nothing
about her that is
hideous-- 
that they don't
understand her--
that they don't
understand us--

i beg her to see me--
turn to me so that
i can be as heavy 
as i felt beneath my
covers this morning--
heavy as i feel trapped
in my own gravel skin-- 

i feel the snakes
of my hair bite 
gashes on across
my forehead &
neck--
i bleed like dew--

oh medusa hold my
hand in yours--
we'll keep our
faces to books--

i can be 
your statue 
of skin &
heavy heavy 
bone--

this is a gay poem

this is a gay poem for
two reasons-- because i'm
writing it & because it's
about loving you--
this is a poem
about what kind of
boy you make me--
i'm a kaleidoscope--
turn me i'll be
whatever color your
want--
the broken stained glass
windows of the church 
that taught me to 
pray-- of what is
my penance for
this-- is there
an amount of hail mary's 
that will make my love
for you & my body something
other than a sin--
oh mother what kind
of son picks glass
from his heels--
oh i don't believe
in confession but 
i go anyway-- 
i take
i write
all the things wrong
with me underneath
my tongue
& hope that kissing
you can be some 
form of forgiveness--
oh you're never ready to
love someone--
& no one is ever ready
to love you--
it's not about being ready--
it's about how many
times
you're willing to 
have someone
else look through
you-- searching for
the right color--
the right shade of
man i have become--
the right shade of 
girl my god thinks
i am-- & 
he calls me 
wife of Abraham &
i say i'm married
to the color the sky was
this morning through my
window-- yes
this is another gay poem
by a gay boy
who feels the day
around him 
like fist-- course
knuckles of my father--
this day 
has scales-- sheds 
it's skin--
leaves bite
marks on
my ankles
this day is the snake
Mary didn't bother to
step on--
no fuck that this
isn't a gay poem--
this is a boy poem
this is a boy poem
about wanting
to grow a stained glass
window-- water it
& have it never ever
break--
if i were to die
today i want 
to be remembered as
the color
the sun was through me
window-- fish-tail
heart beat under covers--
oh what do you know
of this boy?
this kaleidoscope--
you love to turn
& turn

cassette tape

i fear 
i will come apart
like this-- 
ribbon
by ribbon entangled
in the repetition
of my own voice--
this is the one
song i know
how to sing--
rewind me-- run your
fingers over 
my topography of
sound-- how
does my whole voice
feel in your hands?
maybe it feels like
a coin dropped
in the rain-- i lay
heads up for
your to spend me on
a gumball--
i'm thinking of 
the video tape
player
on top of the
square black living
room tv--
i'm thinking of
it's nasty habbit
of eating the ribbon
from the tape--
memories down
its throat--
it was so hungry--
there went the ghosts
of noise & 
shadow & bodies
pulled thinner & thinner--
oh most days 
i want rewind myself 
in bed at night
as the moon
lays there beside
me-- a rusted penny--
i tease it & say that
we're both two
old cassette tapes
collecting only
the clamor of
rain on our bodies--
i lay & only
out of curiosity--
i pull myself
apart-- thumb prints
on my own strands of
hymnal--
here is written
the memory of 
our whole family sitting
in the second row pew & 
singing
Ave ave ave Maria--
oh Maria & your cassette
tape skeleton--
oh just like mine--
pack yourself back up--
it's morning--
it's rewind--
it's time to speak
backwards &
re-write the story
of your tongue--
i find love poems
cliche
so i only write
them backwards
while i thread myself
back together--
warm & safe between
two soft blankets
& the sun outside 
was almost
a chicken but god
went & cracked it
on the edge of
the pan--
sunny side up--
it's november now
& i'm starting
this recording 
with the tunes
of the sparrows 
by my window,
the metronome clicking
of my heart, &
the sound the 
sun makes as it
cracks & sizzles

you are my 
cup of grey sky

you are my cup of grey
sky-- pouring
down over the uneven
sidewalk--
i wake up in the morning
on a quest to pull
back in the breath 
i lost in the cold
morning air--
how did we let it
become november?
how i get here
on this street tracing
your silhouette
in the curvature of 
each lamp post neck--
where did my spirit
go when i exhaled
so loudly that it
left me?
i fog my own
glasses--
am i a cloud in your
grey grey sky or
a kaleidoscope 
you peer through--
broken stained glass
sunset
under your feet--
i had been a green beer
bottle-- a blue  &
yellow dinner plate
dropped on the
red speckled kitchen
floor like a laugh--
a laugh of a thousand pieces--
& this sidewalk
is uneven &
prone to letting
us trip
all over 
the idea of 
each other--
this is me working
on another poem for
you--
this is me
trying to not
let myself
become a cloud
in the midst of
all this writing
about you--
i'm pouring out
i'm pouring out--
a spilled inkwell--
spirit climbing 
sleepily
up each rung 
of naked maple trees--
yes, it's november
& every single 
leaf fell
while i was busy
making you
my cup of grey sky--
maybe you can find
where my breathe
wondered off to 
on this 
cold morning--
until then put me
to your eye 
& close
the other--
here i am 
your kaleidoscope
boy-- what kind of
sunset can 
do you see through me? 

alarm clock// meteor shower 

my alarm clock 
is the same meteor
that killed 
the dinosaurs--
a scream-- a fire-tail--
i always
feel it approaching--
it's cold-heavy
body full of
so much rage--
of plunging wrath--
it looses it's black
feathers in the fall--
i lay gripping
bed frame-- 
i fear becoming
nothing but 
a crater-- 
filled in
with rain water--
scientists will 
come to inspect me--
they will run fingers 
over my banks-- over
my elbows stones
& bolder knees--
they will
conclude that my
face is nothing
but a place where 
a meteor once
smacked the earth--
this crater in
my jaw-- in my
pelvis--my clavicle--
all these meteor showers 
my body has endured--
each morning
i watch their descent--
their fierce & vengeful
plummet towards the
surface of my bones 
will you hide under
the bed with me? 
will you hold me still
& tell me to close
my eyes for five minutes 
more of sleep--
will you tattoo the red
alarm clock times
all over my skin?
line by line by line--
tell me this is all part
of waking up--
the etching of the hours 
into blood--
i tremble-- your
timpany drum--
my flesh
knows when impact
is coming--
wrap yourself around me
& when the walls
of my room scream--
i want you to be
silence-- 
silence receding
into every corner-- 
silence i grab onto 
like the edges of
my mother's quilt-- 
i open my eyes to 
survey the damages--
the cavity pounded through
my rib cage-- a valley
i become valley each morning--
i open my eyes & 
fill myself with
rain water-- a bowl
a basin--
hush the howl of
my alarm--
kiss your forehead
& get up--
in the bathroom
before the mirror
i lift up
my shirt to
see where the meteor
made impact--
this is the same meteor
that killed the dinosaurs--
it comes back each morning
for me--
tomorrow will
you hold me still again?
your ink 
thumb print
your foot step
in the mud--
your crater lover--
fill me with rain
water & float
above-- you can
be a cloud & i'll
me the sky each morning
shatters as
we wake

if i were to be bit by a vampire
this halloween

i imagine it would
be a surprisingly casual
encounter-- 
maybe i'd be going out
to get the mail &
a man in a black cape 
would approach-- 
we'd make small talk &
i would notice his
transyvanian accent
& make nothing of it
until of course he'd
lean over
& bite my neck--

there's something sensual 
about that isn't there?
or is it just me?

maybe i'd on the bus into 
norristown
sitting next to a 
strange tall man-- 
we'd talk about the 
absurdity
of candy corn or
the monster mash playing
on the radio for the eight
time that morning & before
you know it he'd
bite me &
you know the people around
wouldn't think much of it
considering it is
halloween & 
encounters with the
undead are rather common--

i would knock at
your door & ask you
to let me in--
you'd probably tease me
& my new vampire form
mocking
"i'll let you in
but only if you 
say pretty pretty please"

i guess i'd have to 
get an umbrella-- a
large black umbrella to
keep from burning up
in the sun--
no one would ask me
why my skin was so
pale considering i
already generally
have the complexion 
of a vampire--

come to think of it
things wouldn't actually 
be that different--
i would lay awake
at night knowing that sleep
wouldn't be coming--
i would lay awake
asking you to let
me in the front door--
my body only a shadow--
a dark form cast
by the moon--

i would lay awake &
mourn my body that
once slept--
mourn dreams of flight--
then of course i'd remember
that i could indeed
turn into a bat & 
fly but it wouldn't
be the same as that dream
flight-- that world 
un-tethered-- like becoming
an infinite swing-set--
a pendulum--
higher & higher above
the tree in my bat wings--

a little girl who 
is also me would point
up & ask her father if
that is a bat flying--
thin wings slicing through
nighttime clouds &
he would say yes &
point to me darting tree to
tree to tree--

i would travel the whole
town over to see
everyone in their halloween
costumes--
i'd see myself
the 11 year old grim reaper--
the little blue alien--
a power puff girl

there i'd stand-- 
wobbly legged
a 3 year old pumpkin-- holding
the hands of my mother &
father--
i'd grow vines-- 
plucked from the patch--
i'd be carved & 
they'd place a candle 
in my throat--
oh how i'd glow--
oh how i used to
glow--

there are so many
years in one halloween night--

by the end
i would feel heavy &
almost sleepy--
glide back home 
on the faint wind chime
laughter of trick-or-treaters

i would take a shower--
hang up my black cape
& attempt to 
brush my
fangs in the mirror
only to remember
that i lost my reflection
too-- sighing i touch
the foggy mirror--
draw a smiley face--

oh to live the life
of a vampire--
asking  asking
asking to be let in--
i'd pull the candle
out of my throat--
hang from the ceiling
to sleep

melancholia:

a state of planting
flowers & forgetting
to water them--
the marigolds that 
flicker
in the windowsill--
i made my rib cage
into a dock for
you to keep your 
sail boats-- sway--
lunge tide-- water
higher & higher up
to our necks-- have
you seen a mermaid?
have you fallen
in love with a mermaid?
her body wrapped
in seaweed-- she
is your sail to unfurl--
catch gale--
these bones are
wooden-- 
gnawed at
by sea water--
this is what it's like
loving a poet--
there are so many
words in my head
sometimes it feels like
drowning
in the drain of a 
thousand throats
& oh i love it--
their voices echo in
me-- me the
ear
pressed to the conch 
shell-- 
me to open
book full
of wet soil--
this year 
i plant marigolds
in the windowsill--
electric candles--
they remind me 
that at home there is a 
body waiting for me--
& that body has
thumbs for
planting more seeds--
pray for rain--
if nothing else 
pray for rain--pray
for a shower head
& warm water--fingers
running through
hair-- soap clouds--
rain rain rain
& the flame in
the window was always
a flower trying
to dig roots
into plaster wall--
i feel like a piano
being rained on
in some music video
for a song i want
to sing along to 
but don't honestly 
know the lyrics--
here-- if you
need a place to 
stop for the night
your ships can rest
-- tie rope
to dock-- the
tide rises to our necks--
stand tip-toe
with me in the deep
end-- what are we
doing here?-- isn't
it october?
i have snake teeth
left over from august--
i have a love
for you left over
from august--
i'm a summer bond lover
sticking the wet
leaves back in the trees--
i don't like to watch
the world so full of falling--
the only thing
the rain is good
for is kissing--
yes then-- 
i'll be the friendly
garter snake--
the one who crawls
on his belly
behind those flowers
i will inevitably 
forget to water--
i won't bite--
wear me like a necklace
i want to wrap around
you--
i don't want you
to fall for the mermaids--
their song a faint
hum on my docks--
my bones are made
of wood--
there are marigolds
glowing
in the windowsill
for us to find our
way back to these
bodies--
i drowned in word again
but here i am--
i'm back for you--
your garter snake--
your august lover--
melancholia man
catching rain
in a bucket as it
drips from the ceiling--

you should have 
disappeared years ago

i stole melatonin from
the catacombs--
felt my bed room walls 
origami
fold me a crane --

me, a body-- creased mouth
bent spoon neck--
paper cut thumbs--
1,000 cranes i folded--

is this enough
to ask the gods
to name a star 
for me to keep? 
cosmic 
pocket change--
i clamor like dimes--

suns burn craters
in my thighs

those gnat buzzing
stars--
oh how they
pour from
our chimney--

& so on & so on

i sway
a yo-yo string--
pull me back up
against the asteriods's
cold
hard chest

trapeze 
artist balanced
between
each side of
my rib cage--

he falls frequently--
climbs ladder rung
spine--

climbs esophagus--
the plastic
play ground slide 

you should have 
disappeared
a years ago

the magician says
as he places
me inside his hat 
as he covers 
my mouth with a white
glove

as i feel 
myself
burst white
rabbit

as he blows me into
a bubble--
oil spill
rainbow skin

you should have 
disappeared--
so so many years
ago 

inside dust cover--
weight of a novel
pressed against
bone

words thrust 
across chest--
type-writer kiss
on type-writer 
kiss--

so so many 
years ago
inside that magician's 
hat--
that should have been
the end--

so so 
many years ago

when you climbed up
the play ground slide
determined to ascend

up yo-yo string--
gnats as
stepping stones--
stars as gnats

wave planets from
your face-- jupiter 
& saturn all trying
to kiss your
collar bones

you should have disappeared
all those years ago--

i unfold myself--
unfold paper crane
walls of my room--
paper cut a window
in my thumb--

the sun is a star
is a sun is star

warm pressed up against
my asteroid body--

i burn up 
in the atmosphere

1,000 crane fire

this parking meter
i pay for sleep
by the hour--

scarecrow

you forget
your name--
you watch it
dismembered--
letter by letter--

it's carcass in
the beaks of
the crows--
it's memory--
a phantom-- weight
of moon light
on your tongue--

walk to
the corner of
the field--

you carry your father's
clothing-- plaid shirt--
jeans-- straw hat--
match-stick head
sun drop--
burn holes in your
forearms--

corn stalk hush--
back porch light
all-embracing this
body-- they
call you 
kindling-- a pile
of wasp bones--
handful after
handful of 
hay down 
your throat--
you eat to forget your
skin--

morning dew soaks
you-- 
saturated face--
you hold frost
in your shoulders--
your kind of fear
surfaces in your
eyes-- stitch over
stitch--

you own a body of 
apprehension--
of isolation
of wordless mouth
of calling beaks--

you dream of beaks--
they snap
your father's cloths 
from your body--

you dream 
match stick sun--
gentle ignition 
of flesh--

you burn-- corn husk
daughter--
Indian corn tooth 
brother--
smile black feather

swallow spoonful of
night--

this night is early
& thick
this night is
a thunderstorm
of black feather
& bird feet 
in mud--

follow foot steps
to the back porch--

smolder & blaze--
you crucifix-spine
man-- 

what have
you done
to watch 
over us today?

have you said
your Our Fathers?
Have you said your
Hail Marys?

Do you know 
each fox by name?
Each hare?

You come down
from your stake 
air thick--
cold feather night--

your spine
of foot prints
& echoing
bird call-- a 
scream repeating
beneath your
father's clothes

you press finger
to mud--
you etch lines
in the dirt 
that never
form a word--

you claw & rake--
desperate
so desperate 
for your name 

this is a poem
for teenagers who kiss in graveyards

this is a poem for
dry leaves-- for
steam off my flat iron--
for my chipped 
black finger nails-- 
this is a poem
full of elegies 
i wrote to myself--
for nights i used my
windowsill 
as a mother--
for night i jumped 
& splashed next mars--
this is for teenagers
who kiss in graveyards--
for a dead bent 
maple tree
on cemetery hill
in Kutztown-- it's boney
fingers fishing 
for our bodies--
catching us like
a grandmother--
watching us
while
we wrapped ourselves
in grass stains &
hyperbole--
wrote
our names on
the back of our hands
as approximations
for tombstones--
a poem for
snake coil 
ear bubs with one
speaker blow out
from too much Green Day
this is a poem for
feeling small in
the mouth of another 
person--
for reading
graveyard names
like your own--
for taking a spoon
to dig yourself
a bed-- 
dirt cold under 
finger nails--
this is a poem
for zombies &
for trying to 
fall in love with
vampires &
for mud caked
on Chuck Taylors 
& for laying
under moon shadow--
the skeleton tree--
the red moon
full of all the blood
we've managed to
rain from our bodies--
this is a poem for
bathroom mirrors
& the people
who
look into them--
for re-applying
black nail polish--
for leaning
up against a car door--
one ear bud in--
making
fog on the window
with your breath
& tracing a heart--
your heart--
your heart as phantom
& fleeting 
as its outline
in the window--
this is a poem
for you