river bank of dandy lions and 
how we remember each others names
when we die.

i'd like to set a plan
now. i'd like to know where
to meet you when everything else
is over and the sky falls away
like a wooden backdrop--
sit with me and paint an 
evergreen forest--
cut Christmas trees from 
paint swatches-- turquoise 
and mauve and 
the raspberry tint 
we were trying to decided 
what color was best to 
paint over the rain forest
in my bedroom-- 
i had decided i wanted a more
grown up
place to sleep--
there's no sleep 
in a rain forest clearing
or in the snapped finger throats
of the frogs--
run your hands under the fountain--
wash your face before 
we eat-- 
last supper of spearmint leaves
and onion grass bulb--
i'd like to set a plan now
so you know how to find me--
so you know how to 
remember our names-- 
when we die i want you to
find a feather-headed 
dandy lion-- blow downy 
into snow
into kitten beard
into windowsill frost
into root beer foam
and follow wherever
it escapes to--
at first it will fall to the
earth but you have
to be patient-- 
the manes of the dandy lions
have been going to the same
place all these years--
there sits a river bank
where the shore sides
are built of every wish we
ever made ourselves or 
each other--
dig hang fulls of 
perhaps
of 
yearning
of desire to sleep 
with your name in my mouth
wake up in the woven fingers 
of a God fist-- 
when did our skin become
a pillow to sleep on?
dig in the dandy lion wishes with
me-- eat feathers--
lay back
and measure a 1/4 cup 
of the wishes
to make the clouds--
send me a signal you're here
too-- and i'll find you--
i'll find you in the
static fizzle 
of dead people television
and i'll know you remembered us--
maybe i will have too--
and when i find you there
feed me a teaspoon of 
lion mane wishes-- 
drink the bitter milk of 
their necks
you'll laugh and say it always
seemed so hard to forget
someone's name 
who you love
but oh how it turned out
so easy--
just remember that when
you can't think of anything
else that at least you can--
measure out a cloud
and i'll come find you
i'll come find out--
save me a raspberry 
evergreen tree-- 
paint over the rain forest--
sleep in the throat of a frog. 

instructions for keeping yourself safe 
when you walk home tonight

1. trust your instincts
learn how to tell which side of
the street you're a slut on--
this is where you stand because
it is better to know 
what they will call you than 
to be caught off guard--
if the street lamp
turns into a silhouette of
cobra-- trust your instincts 
and don't acknowledge him--
he'll only want more attention--
you know how a whore carries
a book bag-- don't hold yourself
like that--
if the stop lights
bleed the sidewalk red-- whose
fault was it for walking there--

2. walk in groups whenever possible
at least in a bunch of grapes
you have less of a chance of being
eaten-- the emperor likes his
ladies all together so he
has the best to choose from-- 
you can each watch a different street 
lamp-- remind each other not 
to look too scared even though
sometimes the trees start to look
like men who've touched you--
yes we all have had a man who touched us
like a crosswalk-- 
when we walk together what will 
they call us? a pack? a herd?
a murder?
a murder of moonlights where
we held each others shoes--

3. be aware of your surroundings
you already know the street lamp
is a snake-- is a boa is ready
to tighten around your torso--
make love out of asphalt--
you know what it's like to be
held
down and kissed like a 
stick of gum in a crack on 
the sidewalk-- be aware
of the telephone wires-- they 
have a tendency of falling
and electrocuting the resilience 
out of our bones--
we become the hum of the 
Septa bus-- the shifting cyclops 
of a stop light--
be aware of your own legs 
and what they're asking for--
you left yourself so bare--

4. keep your charged cell phone with you 
make a phone call to God and ask
him to unsex you here-- out
out damn legs
dam breasts
damn sweatpants body that asked
to me called your fuck-toy
we've solicitated the attention of boys 
and car tire and
window-- this is where
i was born from-- i'll call
my father
so he can hear my real names--
"Little dyke-- oh yeah
you know i want you" 
"Oh yes-- oh yes i like it"
yes tell me again-- somehow you
knew that all our middles names
are slut

5. But not to worry
No physical confrontations or injuries occurred, 
and we do not have any reason 
to believe these incidents were related. 

it doesn't count if you unbutton my
jeans with your mouth-- this is what we
asked for-- oh yes-- we
wanted this-- we've always wanted this
we were trained for this-- 
learned to grant you permission
to pull off our shirts with your
tongues-- lick this little
dyke on the street corner-- the stop
light saw my injuries-- saw my broken knees
and the cobra draw blood--
stay still in the headlights so it doesn't see
you breathing--
we have no reason to believe
that the consistent dehumanization
of the 
marginalized body
has anything to do with 
a culture where it is easier
to tell us what side of the street
makes us deserving 
of the window poetry than
tell the boys it's not
their job
to call us by the names we already
know we all our
we know we're slut
we're dyke--
your mama-- your open-window
orgasm on a Friday night--
we already knew these
names
we were born with them.

Steele baby dig me a new arm vein.

i stole the keys to the excavator this morning--
poured diesel into sleeping mouths--
we dreamed of smog & a kiss--
forehead of ash wednesady & coal--
i was always a charcoal nude--
soot laden-- devil spin--
i leave you hands stained from the
last time you fucked me into
a page--
today i taught myself 
the controls for the machinery--
black seated queen-- i road 
an elephant who cried metal--
cried teeth of soil-- cried
rocks for her children to eat--
she's hungry enough to take
what i give her-- she won't listen
to the boys anymore-- she knows
babies only feel like swallowed stones--
heavy & carried to the pit--
we devour the murk of dawn
before the construction workers arrive--
we don't want their boots
inside us--
their fists of dirt & yellow shirts
sink all of us to the silt--
what do you know about a river mouth?
the delta--
the Nile-- the basket we left
our babies in
this rush of blood
dig & dig &
dig myself a new vein--
the core was only another river 
for us to drop our boots into--
that's what i'm doing
i'm digging myself a new
vein in the front
yard-- slice the grass-- i'm playing
with BOY TOYS-- 
playing-- little
God with the gnarled teeth
of the elephants-- the hippo feet
stomped through the mud
& when it starts to rain i mistake
my blood for your blood
for your rain for the needle
working it's way--
knitting a vile of blood
to
tell me it's only my brain 
trying to cut itself open--
have you ever breathed loud
enough to be a river mouth?
drank enough blood to be
a rusting elephant--
oh this vein i dug at least it's mine
before the men come in
the morning to bring
their boots 
their boots 
inside me--
let's dig these
new veins clean-- save
our blood in lava lamps
for the doctors new tests
to find us hysterical--mechanical
again.

link tails with me by the florescent billboards
on the reef-- my poetry was neon
in the brain coral

i was looking for someone to hold
seahorse tails with me-- 
someone to
entangle with so i don't get 
caught in the current of another stop
light-- anchor me to the sun 
poised in another billboard--
sell me Cola-Cola-- break off
chunks of staghorn while you try 
to hold yourself steady-- 
this is when you learn the 
coral has blood-- not like
your or mine-- but it breathes
like the walls of skyscraper at
night-- mouth full of humans--
do you ever dream about humans cities?
i'd like to travel to new york
if i could keep holding onto
your tail--
i imagine you'd take me ice skating--
encircle me--
toss the skates over a telephone
wire to claim this street
make courtship of a night moon--
drape the skates over a telephone wire--
the curb oscillates like a sea pea
& you tell me 
you read about M & Ms 
from past the neon follicles 
of the anemone-- drop coins to
the clowns in white-orange 
on the corner--
hold onto me hold onto me lover--
the reef is a car horn--
a preened magazine next
to us on the subway--
what do humans eat other than color?
i have heard so much about
central park-- you'll have to take
me there-- 
i ve heard they grow coral the
size of billboards--
roots crack asphalt crack trenches
crack abyss
crack giant squid nightmare
where you let go of my tail
& i fall victim to 
a newspaper-- wrapped
in headline or headlight
or whatever else we make of this city--
lover-- god gave us tails 
so we could pretend there was something
to hold onto--
tie each other to a stop light--
read the billboards to me like
poetry-- advertise to me baby--
i want to buy love like a 
Twizzler-- drink in the curves of
your neck like the popped tab
of a can of Sprite--
in the city the water tastes 
like carbonated sugar--
how did you sleep before you 
found me?
i didn't
it's more to do with the coral bleeding
than it has to do with all the lights--
you get used to the lights--
i'm pulling lights from 
the pool cues of your eyes--
i'd mistake you for a eight ball--
if we had teeth we could
crack the blue candy coral
Caulastrea clusters into high rise--
into pillar coral scraping
scraping
scraping
the drift of stars--
the star fish rest next to 
heating vents in sleeping bags
--swaddled in beach towel--
we cannot sleep yet-- we've
yet to read each other's names--
bold & blinking & capitalist
imprinted in the scalp
of the brain coral-- the 
cacophony of tinsel song & light--
this is the time draws itself
into a square for
us to hold each other in--
how do the humans stand a city?

the blood on the bed sheets &
watching ourselves become butterflies 
in the mirror--

in first grade we learned how to be beautiful.
who better to teach us than the butterflies--
& what is a butterfly but a packet of seeds
in the bottom of a glass box--
this is our first strip show-- watch 
the ladies pull their bodies free 
of chrysalis-- of fish net-- of white stocking--
blood on wing on bed-sheets--
before we saw them in blood we had taken
the time to learn  
how they spoke--
listened from the edge of their terrarium-- 
taught them ABCs & the song we sung to remember 
the multiples of 9-- 
9, 18, 27, 36 
36 goldfish crackers on desk--
27 cupcakes for my summer birthday--
no-- yes-- it's not july--
18 little boys & girls to wait in 
line for a mirror in the bathroom--
9 mornings of remembering how
to build a cat's cradle to turn to liquid inside--
puncture wrists like Caprison--
no this was before i knew why 
the butterflies were bleeding --
we believed 
in caterpillars-- 
their skin was our own--
un-fucked & smelling like suntan lotion--
this is before we knew our
own veins were full of sugar--
the caterpillars loved like us with 
Marconi mandibles-- mischievous
feet & eyes that blink at glass mirrors--
we saw through our own faces & onward
into purple glue stick
-- into a broken crayon horizon
april knew how to feed us with
sun in the window & green leaves
gnawed bare by anxious jaws-- it didn't
take long for the class to discover they
were ugly-- the caterpillars 
were ugly
we were ugly-- the sandbox & the
playdough fingers were all ugly--
what was it they were trying
to teach us with little bodies in jars?--
watch the insect grow to hate
itself so much that it resolved 
to never look the same in a mirror--
bathroom mirrors
were we wrote our names with foam soap-- 
sat on a window ledge to grind leaves
with our baby teeth--
how many quarters are you worth
beneath a pillow?
what was it that i learned for the 
other side of the strip show--
this butterfly burlesque of blood
maybe mrs kenney wanted
to teach her girls what it felt
like to watch each other undress
-- watch each other bleed--
this is the art of sympathy--
but don't touch them-- they can
do it on their own--
taught us to dry wet wings--
trade mouths for siphons--  
despite all efforts the 
boys never comprehended how
to hold a butterfly without crushing it--
so i remembered now that 
when you're body grows long
& full of leaves it is time
to package yourself to be re-sold--
liquefy to sell your mouth-- when you
wake up it doesn't matter whether or
not your legs are the same-- your mind
was a chrysalis that chanted
goddess goddess goddess
take away my mouth-- these legs 
i walk like a plague--i want people
to mistake me for a brush stroke--
laugh about my escape from Eden--
call me the temptress of an april 
gust of wind-- taste poison in skin-- 
& that's what the blood on
the bed sheets is for--
never trust a boy to watch 
the butterflies undress-- he's impatient--
to this day i can trace my face in foam 
on the bathroom mirror--
pierce morning through my ears
like Caprison-- 
each day i feel more like a monarch--
liquefy sleep 
see you on the other side
of the glass-- 

the night sky needs a mirror &
the sun cracks herself in a cast iron pan--
they paint hunger into dawn

she told me the sun & the moon
are lovers-- only they're both girls--
they laugh at men's feet
bound to grass &
stones--
and we all knew the night sky 
was our goddess--
only we mistook our savior in a sun--
she's not your lion mane--
she doesn't want your gold to
dress a sun-ray-- she's her to warm
the morning-- kiss the forehead of
the moon as she rises--
she laughs in the splash of
cracked egg-- yolks in fingers-- the flame
to eat the pot of oil--
sun taught the water 
itself that it could breath 
and at night she whispered across 
the earth for her lover 
to un-clip nebulas from her hair--
tossed down into a ocean chasm to light
the bodies of jelly fish--
paint lakes in her own hips--
this water color is blood bled
into a sunrise--sunset 
she the sun loved the moon
enough to become her-- the heat
on her face that puts the water
into a trance--  
the ocean is her own 
sky she built to own a mirror--
it's how she reminds herself that she
is as real and as eternal as everyone
says she is--
she some days feels like the exhale
of an ocean vent-- the decrescendo of
a whale carcass to the deep--
rest in then mouth another echinoderm 
it's taxing to wear the moon
as a mask-- listen to humans 
misjudge her for the stones--
this man in the moon has
always been a woman--
together in tandem sun & moon
craft each other bangles to endow 
around the waist of the equator--
preen each day like a skillet--
mirrored reflects in silhouetted in the sea
at dawn when their mouths are full
only of yearning--
this is how you learn not to touch--
she remember's the sun hands
like the hot grip of a cast iron pan--
she tastes morning hungry
wishes to hold the sun like
the soft belly of a crepe-- 
the moon lives as an empty plate--
a hollow mouth spoon
gaping for a drop of horizon--
she tastes sun only in that reflect--
that burst on the water--
the waves distorting her image
in a juggle of beams--
the coral gnaws at her face
and the moon weeps tired--
lets go of waves--
sun rages into morning
oh why oh why do we wear 
these masks so they believe us
and the moon forget she
was meant to be silent-- and
the sun always breaks her
promises and sometimes doesn't
kiss the water--
and the moon tells herself
at least she has the ocean--
the bowls of her own bones
where she can save her favorite
drops of stars--
this is where the moon keeps her
body secret from the sun--
digs deeper in her own thighs
to hid more stars-- more kisses 
she grasped on the cusp of Capricorn--
i love you more
i love you more
i love you more
she says and the man tied
to grass & stones
is afraid-- wonders why
the moon chooses burns 
from laying face up in cast iron 
pan-- 
wonder how the sun could
love
a thing so hollow she needs a mirror.

sleep overs for fat girls;
did you lay in a pine tree last night
or play truth or dare with the frogs?

i learned when i was 10 that 
sleep overs aren't made for fat girls--
and neither are sticks of plum eyeliner--
draw the bulls-eye around my belly button
-- they taught me to 
avoid my own skin-- these hands
and their vampire desire to eat--
how dare a girl partake in something
other than air--
chant me into your 
truth or dare--
but i'll always be truth--
i'm scared of what skinny girls
would do if they had a dare to
use on a fat girl--
make my clothing into puppets
i ignore the laugh of a mirror--
see yourself amphibian-- glossy eyed
and full of ponds-- twisted 
lip stick staircases into a murky night
pull back like arrows--
impale me chalked blood 
on the bulls-eye--
bleed me nail polish on carpet
on thumb print
this is where you become a skinny girl's 
dice roll--
snake eyes of your unformed breasts--
make training bras from 
toilet paper and roll the dice
to turn 16 when they 
say none of us will still be virgins
how many doughnuts can she eat?
can't stop herself--she's like a dog-- 
a goldfish-- a fat frog ready for sex--
hold your fat body in
the lull of water in the sink--
the bathroom is a locked door--
pour yourself a bath of brownie
batter-- 
wait by the oven where your not a dare--
you become the corner pieces--
the misshapen sleeping bag
that looks like your stomach--
let's play
marry
fuck 
kill 
    the fat girls
so i slept in the pine trees--
pulled needles from my
sides-- and thought of 
who i would marry if 
i was a dice roll or 
new how to draw my eyes on
-- i would
marry the throats of the frogs
having intercourse by the ledge
of the pond in the back yard--
they warble brownies to each 
other and they like
their bodies fat for the winter--
i would be a queen--
a streak of plum eye-liner--
sleep is for girls 
who eat lipstick so
they awoke on the stale forehead
of another morning--
an open box of doughnuts--
broke in half 
as the last supper of secrets--
we love each other only
as far as we can measure a night--
they say
i didn't ever pick 
dare-- so they dare
me to be a fat girl again
and i laugh because that's what you
do when you're confronted with
a mirror--
eat the corner brownies so 
you have safe place to sleep--
marry 
fuck
kill
    the fat girls.  

The whale carcass:
our mother and our corridor;
we tie knots in our bodies to feel 
less empty 

hagfish
sold our jaws to the sand in order
to build the coral-- 
cut each other 
bouquets of sea lilies-- 
listened
to their shriek flutter on 
the backs of the mollusks--
we forget each other's names
in a tangle when we curl
knot
after knot--
pearl bodies into fish nets--
sexy and draped in mucus--
this is how we escape the grasp
of each other's hands--
i call you all sister 
because we each have known 
the underbelly of the sea
is rotting 
and waiting for us to feed--
there are too many of us to hold
tightly enough to a name to
remember-- 
tie these bodies tight enough
to form a memory--
our mother was the white
carcass of a whale 
and she named us all 
after her ribs-- made
room for us to walk through
her body like a corridor--
hold our sisters and silence
the sobs of another sea lily 
pleading to not be mistaken
for a bouquet--
our mother swallowed chandeliers
and candelabras to build
us a home--
drank bleach to leave
her bones white enough to 
fabricate a sun--
we watch her turn into 
a ghost of bone--
flesh for her children and
each sister has another name
to call her--
my mother was a corridor
and there was no where to
walk with me but
i wanted to know what they
call you and i wanted
to entangle my body with yours--
learn what it would be like
to remember a name for
once-- did you remember 
where we saw the sea lilies
or if they were only 
some other sister's recollection--
i lit the candles with 
the sacrifice of a jaw bone
when the crabs turn white as 
bone we know it is time
to give up on the mother 
who tried to lead us
down her hallways--
he have walked there-- sewn skin
into a vague promise to be
left with the turn of her spine--
the roll of the staircase
into the drop off 
of the abyss--
we protected her long enough
for the ghosts of the 
crabs waiting to take what was
left-- watch a soul get swallowed 
by a mound of sand--
candles extinguish 
under water and so in 
the darkness we crawl towards
a new mother--
call me sister-- sister
sister tie knots in my 
body-- i 
want to feel your skin on 
mine and i will ask 
if you remembered our mother
and if you remember what name you
have made for yourself there--
hagfish
traded jaws to tie our
bodies
in knots-- hold me 
and hang the sea lilies 
from the chandelier-- born
another mother from her carcass 
on the sea floor-- 
 

i taught my body to bloom in the larkspurs
from the back seat of an Oldsmobile;
milk and honey through the floor

what good is a seat belt?
lock me into the cushion in the back seat--
lay that body down like the corpse 
of another martyr refusing to decompose--
i pull milk and honey 
from a hipbone and pretend it isn't blood--
you say i smell like flowers
but it wasn't boys who taught me
how to open my mouth like a larkspur--
you say you'd pull me apart one slice
at a time
your clementine artist--
hips bound by roses-- 
prayed at this window-- this bulb--
what will 
you call me savior for? 
call me benediction
in the form of an open window-- 
write your hands in breath on the glass--
i'm peeling open the tulips before
they're supposed to bloom-- pulling
free the sun-burn faces of the daffodils--
push me bulb and root and nest
of my own hair-- planted grass seeds
in my legs so i wouldn't have
to tell you why i don't shave anymore-- 
this is the place i grew one 
tight fist of pressed petal between my legs--
i was the valley and the abyss--
a kiss from the forehead of a mountain 
we only had the courage to shave the tress--
yes we saved the thorns--
i lay in the back seat of the Oldsmobile--
find myself a rapture of rust-spring 
and cushion-- a mouth full of foam
trying to taste dew through the upholstery--
no it wasn't a boy who pressed down on
me to teach me how to break through
the floor of the car--
my petals eat metal and bone--
i call my vagina a larkspur and a 
car door and a jar full of raspberry jam--
call her a window and a martyr and 
an unbuckled seat belt waiting for a red light--
this seat belt was to keep you from
taking me back inside where
i can't take my whole body into 
the bruise of a violet grasp--
we tore through the floor of the car
to make ourselves a body here
painted on the 
yellow stripes of a road only leading
towards milk and honey--
i became a sculpture
from my thumbs-- 
call my body citrus and throw 
the skin out the window-- 
it wasn't boys who unpeeled me like
a tangerine-- it was a
backseat stained in cigarettes 
and my own blood
turned sweet as milk
and honey. 

In search of my grandfather's fossils;
our ashes in an hourglass
and these bodies were only ferns

have i told you yet how
i learn my body into the
shape of a fern leaf?
i had been in search 
of my grandfather's fossils--
all we had wondered what
more was left of him other 
than his ashes
all sideways and poised
like an hourglass of sand--
he never struck me as a man
who would have accepted being 
returned to dust--
he remains a box of fruit snacks on top of 
the fridge-- 
a fist of amethyst
to grind to sugar
--a walking stick
in the back of the coat closet--
the one with the metal rubbed smooth
from holding his hand
like the wife who we all know 
only ever existed to become a metaphor--
we still see her in the snow
that falls the color of her shoes--
we learn to simmer 
his name over our nightlights--
meet his face 
in the dismantled body of a chicken coop--
our grandfather has a habit 
humming in the carcass of our
house-- only i can never hear
what he says and i ask my father
if i'm supposed to listen
but he responds by tipping
over another hourglass--
plays a bar chord on a hand
full of rusted guitar strings
and names another song after us--
i woke up my brother
and i from our bunks beds--
told him we were going to 
dig tonight-- deep enough
to find him as a photograph--
dug with tablespoons past amythest
in the backyard where there
used to be the red chicken coop-- 
he doesn't believe me
but i promise discovery--
i promise to tip an hourglass
of our our own ashes 
into a tablespoon-- we won't be
be a memory of ash--
we take solidarity 
in shovels 
and light a fire to keep us company
from behind the television screen
in the living room--
dug past stuffed animal eyes--
the yellow wandering string 
of an unwoven sweater--these
threads tied us back down
to the soil--
down into the cistern--
past a pile of white nurses shoes--
measure blood in green pennies
stacked to remind
us that we all fell from
the pockets of a cold statue
marooned on Ellis island--
we uncovered eight pocket
watches all humming a different
time-- thirteen hours
to fill the morning--
and by the time the sun came up
all we had discovered was 
fern fossils
like the ones my father
and i stole from a creek
when i was six--
cracked layer after layer
of these past bodies through
fingers of leaves--
is this why i remember the rain forest?
i ask my father-- who surveys
the holes we cut
into the yard the night before--
he throws his guitar strings
into the dirt for another
child to untangle--
we press our hands to 
the memory of the leaves--
our fingers to the sinews 
and we realize all our
veins fold into the
leaf bodies
like finger prints-- 
and my father flips over the hour glass
again-- reminds us to turn out
the fire in the screen of
the TV before 
we return the silhouettes 
of our own bodies back to the fern fossils--
i ask my father which fossil
is my grandfather
he lies and says
as many as you can hold in your hands
and as many as we can bury