portrait of us as cloud giants

your face is a parking garage & all the rain
that's going to come. what i want is a lover again
& not just a place to bury the helicopter.
lake's worth of water make a veil over 
our faces. my gender walks without me.
i have asked so many times for a leash. 
below, the world counts its fingers. tunnels 
into our necks. my knees become serving dishes.
here come doves. here come hackers & water bears.
i was told once that there is enough to go around
& never once did i believe it. i ask my body
"how much can we cover?" you spit hail at my feet. 

soil talk

turn me now, it is not yet winter 
& there are still grasshopper songs 
to be eaten with a fork. the river you gave me
is dull now & i want another one. i need love
in handfuls & pitfalls. plummets & heaps.
i do not want love in tomorrows & someday-we-wills. 
give me the garden. the tomatoes & the tubers.
thrust your fingers into everything soft.
i do not want to be alone as the rain comes
to make promises of every bean that will come
& necklace me. i burry the trumpet. you could kiss 
every single leaf. shovel. trowel. spoon.

flute farm

we run out of silver & resort 
to making instruments out of our own bones.
you tell me there once was a little box
that would sing you "goodnight" & "goodmorning."
the power outlets shed their snakes. 
i ask you if you want to dance. it is night
& the tamborines are out. you do not want to go.
a dead fox lays at the front door. this means
we did not save our data. i remove him
& bury him underneath the ringing tree. 
i promised you last year i would look for portals.
instead, i ate every button. now the year is done. 

off-site recovery program

in the yard, dad glows green. the drum 
of pulse and sing. i never wanted to be 
an american but here i am, eating with
the vibrating spoon. i call toll free to say
i think we have another one. the tree, not a tree
but a government surveillance site. each pine cone
could power a small city. if we dig deep enough
there is space enough for all our mistakes 
or so i am told. dad hums. dad is made of 
radioactive waste. it's all because he works 
inside a captured dream. hymnals fall. 
open them to find lists of recovery addresses.  

grass forgetting green

i lay in the yard & the blades ask me,
"what is our name?" i break mirrors once a week.
count birds each day until i reach one hundred.
there has been a lack of ghost inventory-taking lately.
our estimates are now way off. there are so many more.
i lie to the grass & say, "you are all named louis." 
it is a specific burden to have to name yourself.
sometimes, i wish a green mouth would have come & said,
"you are this." the grass believes in violins.
the grass wants a lover & i am not willing or ready.
i tell the grass, "you should talk to the birds."
every blade sheds a tear. i say, "i understand."  

barbed wire hammock 

all afternoon i pretend to be sleeping.
a disciple of self-punishment, 
i invent new gods who tell me, "you are just
an acorn squash." my guts are every where
& they smell like bicycles. in a room
of sunglasses, i am just shielding my eyes
& hoping the throbbing will all go away. the trees bend
with my weight. i tell them "this is only 
for a few hours." the wires are comfortable.
not severing skin at all. yes, it's is not as bad as 
it could be. oh how i want to stop thinking like this when
somewhere there is a bed made of bones just for me.

button hole

throw me through the sweaters' blinking.
dynamite took the mountain's heart out 
& now she culls the roof tops with 
her long fingers. i have been stolen & lost.
stood in the archway & thought, "is this enough
to hold the two edges of the world together?"
winter is too cold & not nearly cold enough.
i want to be a statue. a cloud. the way 
her thumb & forefinger would work, slipping
a button into its burrow. we were all voles.
hid from the owls catastrophe eyes. we told stories
of belonging. of perfect fits. walnut & skeleton. 

you dreamed a radioactive end

standing in the sitting room like coat wracks
& just waiting for the shoes to drop. raining 
boots all day, we covered our heads & said
"it was only a matter of time." the peaches
grew arms & the grapes, wings. insect-like 
& looking for revenge. we thought we could out smart
whatever turmoil comes after a great barbeque. 
smoke. hair. steak knife. then the ground vibrated.
everyone escaped through a zipper. but now
it's all snakes underneath the bridge. finding 
your mouth where the shower dream should be. 
i told you we couldn't use too much. 

graveyard dirt

i go out with a trowel to reconile 
all of my fruit. the peaches that melted 
into handbags & then turned into swallows.
we used to walk here together & hold hands
amoung the hills & headstones. i picture
apricot trees growing on the necks of masoleums.
it is said just a handful can become a voice.
my grandmother who clapped her hands to stay warm.
the dogs who ran until they came apart as autumn leaves.
i used to want to raise the dead. now, i reach
into the jar to feel just a bit of underworld. in the soil 
i see a jaw bone. an eye lash. swelling afternoon.

flea market mink

i follow the stream to the land of humane killing.
let us not be hunters, today. let us wear 
the costume jewlery teeth & laugh. gun in mouth.
crayfish in mouth, i pray to the worn-again. to repetition.
this is not my fault. i did not find you. 
must & meat. dreaming of the face bones of your mammals. 
carnivorous god. two left heels. polka-dot punch bowl.
nothing good is created without a price. your bones
were carry to a slit in the throat of the afternoon.
let us just pretend we are dressing up for an armageddon.
i was not invited but i will arrive 
with you over my shoulders.