purgatory bingo in the waiting room we talk about super bowls & rice makers. uncle jo is there eating a twinkie. then, the fine china is on the floor & no one seems to know what is coming next. there are bells on the walls. old ladies & a girl i sat next to in seventh grade science class. she's popping pink gum. there are teeth in my pocket. i keep it to myself. maybe there is a list with names. maybe there is another room full of light & free toothpaste. i count none of my boyfriends & all of my girlfriends here. an empty water cooler. a television & all i can think is "soon. so soon."
11/25
stamp booklet in the little stamp square i see a carrier pigeon who has a letter in his mouth for me. the mail person at the post office window explains this is the "extinct animal series." all the stamps today are macabre. the last booklet he showed me was of gravestones & the one before that, pictures of famous killers. the killers wink when you shifted the letter in the light. i guess no one has time anymore for letters anyway. i mostly look in my mailbox for god. i settle on the animals in the hopes this pigeon letter is something good. in my car, i ask to see it & the bird swallows it whole.
11/24
canopic jars i pluck my organs like apples. might as well get a start on sorting this viscera. i give you the head of anubis & say, "let's begin." you do not want to be a priest as no one in their right mind wants to be a priest. once i found a jar like this burried in the woods. it had a beating heart inside. i re-burried it but i still think about it every day. was it yours? mine? i want to do the same with myself. scatter body like squirrels sew nuts. for later. a liver beneath a horus head beneath the willow trees. everywhere is a tomb or else, an afterlife, if you are ready.
11/23
copper where were you when the universe told her green? i was shopping online. rings i bought you that gave use halos. radium on the ceiling like a balloon child. we jumped electric rope. shaved our heads. lived whole lives as bowling balls. i wound the sound of baseball bats around your finger. let's not forget the veins of the house or the trumpets that fell into the cellar while we were busy kissing. pennies in their bunkbeds getting ready to be unused. i told you "i wish it was gold." string rays fly over head.
11/22
needle point i sat in the rocking chair & became an anchoress. cut threads like veins. the moon was a wooden hoop pulled taut with clothe. what i am trying to say is i need a plot of land to sew violets. i need a window large enough to shatter when i throw a rock. i work all night. there is a ghost baby in a basinette. he is studying gender in the hopes he might get one. dipping needle in & out of the skin. the clothe. the clothe skin. there is always an underneath. dolphins beach themselves & turn into women. i never said this was for you. i meant only to keep busy. to stave off the curtains.
11/21
wearing black a flock of crows come to live in my house. we play chess. we eat popcorn & watch horror movies. controlled terror is my only comfort these days. did you hear the police have marble eyes they are rolling through the city? i know every stone is speaking the language of the dead. once you start wearing black, you do not want to stop. it's an alleviation. the crows compliment me & ask if i ever considered becoming a contract shadow. just for a night, of course. i say i am staying amateur here. no need for perminance. the crows knit me black sweaters & sew black dresses. soon, we are family in a bright eclipse.
11/20
private parts i wear a fig leaf for a face until someone notices. thrive on indecency. i'm all here for public displays of privacy. the telephone booth. the confessional. birds are private today & so are stop signs. has anyone ever told you, you're allowed to keep parts of yourself away from your lovers? i think it is important to cultivate mystery. then again, once i saw a church burn down for the sake of privacy. there is nothing left to the imagination in a fire. gone & gone. trust me, i want to just show you, but i can't.
11/19
the swan unzips the beautiful out comes a bucket of moths. do you know we are killing the children? do you know no one is female anymore? soon there will be just a great big field of USB drives. i once asked my mother why god is a man & she said "because he creates outwardly." i sit in a garden of thumb tacs. mirror mirror on the wall who is the femmest of them all? the swan is standing with a knife in my bedroom. i'm going to have to face them soon. a round applause for anyone trans wearing a dress. the moths have a plan but i do not.
11/18
crooked-ing teeth in my mouth there is a cemetery for beetles. my teeth wear clogs. my teeth ask the worst questions like, "why does the sky taste bitter?" the planet is slowly putting on a wedding dress. we have lost touch with ceremony. my teeth sing all night & i knock on them saying, "keep it down." they cannot help it. they are trying to give a warning. i have watched over the years as they have gotten more & more crooked. first just a twisted ankle. now, armless mannequins. it's too late to be pristine. instead, i smile like a riverbend. the beetles are not dead.
11/17
glass 1/2 empty i'm at the point where 1/2 empty is dreaming. i look at glasses & i see clusters of frog eggs. i see their little souls full of legs & i wonder if they will live full & happy lives or if someone will come along & swallow them down. it will not be me. i am too busy feeding cheerios to my imagination, saying, "only a few more years of living like this." the cardboard world asks me all the questions i can't answer like "who?" & "how?" the secret is there will only be one or two frogs. the rest will remain commas. truly though, the glass is not 1/2 empty, it's just empty.
