instructions on how to pack & leave a four-bedroom apartment

the moon is setting
sour & green & vibrating. it's shaking
the whole painting. a brush is buzzing
with its cicada wings & trying
to paint my pupils & i keep explaining
i already have pupils or else i wouldn't
be able to see at all. 
im going to need to to recover
after putting the whole planet
in my mouth. i am buying
jaw breakers for survival purposes.
we should all practie unhinging 
our jaws or evolution is going
to forget us. i want a beautiful
fancy pigeon who teach me 
how to be less useful. my father
is always arriving too early
& i am always arriving just 
a little bit after him. i'm hosting
a family reunion in a basement
i don't have. don't worry, i don't have
much family so they should fit just fine
or i could put them all
in the microwave. it's more spacious
than you might think. no cooking, i'll just 
put the thing on unthaw & watch everyone
turn into frozen porkchops.
what are we having for dinner? 
i ask myself as i pour a glass
of lemon juice. citrus is good
for survival. i hear they're treating
the virus with it now. my tongue 
is acidic. a bunch of cherry tomatoes 
slice themselves in halves.
i rub salt in the wound. i peel off
the bandaides left on the walls.
there in a single thumb tack
holding the picture frame to my heart.
there will be blood on the floor
i cannot help it. there will be
a sad story in the newspaper 
after all of this is over only
we will not be the ones reading it.
when no one texts me back 
i start to wonder if there were ever
anyone on the other end. i start
to believe my phone is the only one 
talking to me. a great algorithm 
standing where everyone else used to.
i am okay with this reality. 
it is less embarassing to be needy 
of a machine. everyone clings 
to gigibites. it is just part of growing up.
the moon in downloading 
into my glass of water. five more minutes
to load. whose family will i swim in 
tomorrow when everything finally yellow
& ripe? i cannot tell you the future
that is only to be read 
in the dead patchs of grass from the back lot 
where only ghost cars are parked.
i have a ghost car now.

survival poem 

when i can't get up
i pretend i am just 
a swarm of beetles sprawled 
across a bed sheet. i scurry
the walls towards the bathroom
to wash my face. no one can tell me
there is no chance of hail today.
i don't believe in violins
& i'm skeptical lately of mothers too.
what am i going to do with all this
peanut butter? this is a serious question.
i have a whole shopping bag full of it.
i'm scared of running out. i met
an octopus last night in my dream 
& it blinked its eyes like a human.
i was in a tide pool & star fish 
kissed my feet harshly too. 
the sea urchins turned to sushi
& floated to the surface. i will eat
ice cream for dinner tonight
& the spoon will fall heavy
from a hole in the ceiling.
my brother is coming soon
to help lift all my dragon bones
& carry them away. i miss 
my sandals i broke last year. 
will i miss the parking lot
behind my aparment? the better question is
will it realize i am gone? 
how long will it take 
for the pigeons to gossip?
the block i live on is mostly populated
by singers. every night they crawl out
with their microphones 
& their saddness. i am a poet
& thus i keep my saddness 
to myself. i need to save it
so i can write it into poems.
when i have a good fresh saddness 
i'll save it in the freezer
& unthaw it when i need 
a strong emotion. i have felt
grey lately which is to say 
i eat nothing but dry cereal
with my bare hands. the blue clouds 
have gone rotten with age.
you need to stir the pot 
or the macaroni sticks to the bottom.
whole buildings disappear you know?
they just go away. there's a vacany 
on my street right now. people come
& stare into the ruin dreaming
of their own impending disappearances. 
they take pictures & hope to see ghosts.
i know it's no use. all the ghosts are
playing mancala in my living room.
i am alone so i let them in.
i told them to keep it down 
& i will keep them as long as they want.
they eat jam from the jar. 
bananas do not in fact grow on trees
like they told you. you are rewarded bananas 
for good behavior. this is why i am kind
& i always have bananas 
in the green bowl on the self.

family reunion photo

yesterday a firework follow me home
& yelled outside my window 
as if it were a parent. what i need
is someone to fold my shirts 
to make them smaller. if i were 
the size of a thimbell i could
survive so much easier. i would 
converse with snails & i would
drink dew from blades of grass.
i am ready for a big change
which is to say i am ready
to break my favorite coffee mug
& listen to the little shards sing
an elegy. june is coming heavy as 
a bolder down the side of a mountain.
i have a mountain i'm saving 
for just such occasion. it is
chocolate & will melt by 
the end of the week. we will
lick our fingers. i can't believe
i used to think applebees was fancy.
i mean secretly i still do.
any place with garnishes 
is fancy to me. the little diner
near the dollar store used to use
mandarin oranges as garnish.
i'd eat them with my fingers 
& pretended they were slugs.
in a way, they were slugs, 
dripping with sharp citrus syrup.
spelling is for braver people. 
i have given up trying. i let
the words make use of me. 
recently, i tried to start a conversation
with a man on a bench 
who was reading a stolen newspaper.
i fumbled & asked him 
what my name was instead of his. he looked up at me
as if i were a bowl of ice.
there was no man there 
just a greeen bench. i am still
waiting for him. everyone 
is arrving soon. my dog is scratching
behind her own ears. that should be my job.
how does she sleep so much & then have the will
to get up again? lately, all my days 
are thin & rubbery. i bounce them 
on the sidewalk. children ride bikes
with blue medical masks on. 
a blue rubber glove turns
into a pigeon & back in to a glove
before my eyes. i throw out
cans of spiders before 
they hatch. i turn on another fan 
so i have two fans spinning at all times.
they are my new family. mouths open,
exhaling loud and steadily. 

oil waterfalls

argon oil comes from god
straight dripping from a hole
in his heart. my dog is a tiny god
& i am just trying to please her.
i want it to stop raining once 
& for all. we can learn to drink oil
from the tall glasses in the cupboard.
my hair is turning into straw & soon
it will become a nest for future birds.
this transformation will be good
for practicing my balance. i will feel
the eggs pressing again my scalp.
i will know their shape & blueness.
did i ever tell you i came from an egg?
i keep my egg tooth in the drawer
alongside other knives. knives are hard
to trust. this is why i lock my door 
at night. sometimes a knife will try to
poke its tip underneath the door
but the base will not let it enter.
it's not easy to pry thumb tacs 
out of the wall & have all these little holes
gaping at me. i tell the holes
i am lonely but not lonely enough
to try to talk to them. a mouth
is always getting bigger. my lips 
are made of rubber bands. they ricochet 
off the walls of a big autorium where
an assembly was supposed to be held
but we do those kind of things online now.
it's really for the better. i am sick 
with the virus from trying to download 
some pirated movies. there are pop-up windows
girating on my soul. who will save me
if there is no fountain of water
full of coins? the vegetable oil 
in leaking through the ceiling
& onto the carpet. i am in need
of a moisterizing motion. my skin is dry
as potato chips. i crack open.
a bird pecks at my window. i tell her
i am very busy right now feeling sorry
for myself. on the television 
people compete against each other
in various simulations. i root for them.
they confess to the camera
that they need to the money 
to save their corners of the world.
i imagine them finding dall bills
underneath their tongues. sometimes, 
i look down at the sidewalk, hoping to find 
a twenty. i have found three so don't think
i'm reasonlessly hopeful. i am of course
more hopeful than i should be. my dog
is a realist & she cries every single day.
she sits on a throne made of tuna cans 
you left behind. she drinks oil
from a puddle on the street & turns glossy 
& powerful. 

inter-planetary music box 

i told the moon to take it's shoes off
& stay while but she took it the wrong way.
it's been 2 weeks since i saw the moon.
the clouds are made out of wool
& when it is cold i'm making a note
to climb up into the sky & swaddly myself.
the pigeons have been more vocal lately.
they sing acapella when i walk by.
i'm not a fan of most music unless
it's heard from inside a conch shell.
my ears turn to shells if i'm not careful.
the words you say often lose their meaning
& turn to glass. i have several sculptures
of my father. where does your mail 
hide itself? i find my mail 
in the freezer & sometimes in
the medicine cabinet. i'm crouched 
& begging the moon to enter--
to take up my whole apartment with 
her white glow. the surface of my skin 
turns into cheese. gouda. 
all the rats in town want 
to chew on me. i tell them tonight
is specialy & tomorrow i will be
more disposable. tomorrow comes
& i pull the plastic wrap
off my face. there are factories 
that ship me my emotions 
in 1-2 days. if i paid a little more
i could be happy every day.
having windows is a priviledge.
they can easily be taken away 
by mischievious planets 
with nothing better to do than 
steal earth objects. on mars 
there's a house made of only windows.
in my heart there's a house
made of only toothpicks.
it knocks itself over & i pick up
all the tiny slivers of wood.
who is going to paint my portrait 
when all the cameras have turned 
& pointed at the sky?
it was supposed to be a lover
but she turned into a red rubber ball.
what i'm trying to do is be prepared
for whatever new loneliness
will find me. on tindr, god swipes left
on everyone. i change 
"bisexual" ot "queer" in my bio
to make myself harder to find.
i don't want to meet someone. i'm full
of lunar tendencies. the sky 
is emptying through a wound
in my shoulder. there goes 
the gas planets. 
there goes a prickly star
& a tiny astronaut.

community discourse

the food processor is good
at obliveration. it wakes me up 
in the middle of the night
to tell me its thoughts on armageddon.
all my appliances read the bible
but all of them are very different christians.
if i needed to i know i could
sleep in my fridge & never come out.
freeze my heart & wake me up
when the earth flattens out.
it's only a matter of time. 
gravity is always pressing. i tell gravity
to let up for a moment & 
i float to the ceiling of my room 
like a discarded balloon.
it is always someone's birthday 
but let's be honest, not everyone birthday 
is significant. all my tuesdays 
eat my wednesdays & so my weeks
are only 6 days long. everyone keeps saying
when this is over, i will. do you understand
this will never be over? the planets
are bullies. they are out there
spinning us a nightmare & having
crescent moments deep in the universe.
i shine a spotlight on myself
until i am only a shadow. my shadow
has always wanted to be a dancer
but i have been holding him back.
in the shower, i try to scrub off
my feet. i am left with hooves.
what are those horses in the city
doing right now? do they smoke cigarettes 
on their breaks? a handful 
of pennies goes a long way 
if you are in the right place
at the right time. copper 
is always sick. some boys' mouths
taste copper & that's how i know
they wriggled free from the pipes.
i tell them i don't need 
their service. i used to sell
pieces of myself off a may i laid
on the sidewalk. no one would bite.
i said i would through in my ear lobes 
for my chin & they all walked by 
to head back to their shiny white cars
& homse that smell like candles.
every time you burn a stick of incense 
an angel takes themselves less seriously.
the alley ways are getting smaller.
have you noticed? soon all buildings 
will touch. maybe even the houses
spread far far apart in farm towns like mine. 
a cow is driving a tractor
at midnight. he killed the farmer for sure.
i look the other way 
like a good neighbor does.

a cycle of new conclusions 

pull a golden beet 
out from between the floorboards
but it turns out to be a baby
so i put it back. i'm not trying
to be responsible yet. maybe later.
i have taken to feeding the birds. i toss
handfuls of old toys at them:
tops & rocking horses & teeth.
the birds are ungrateful 
& they don't eat a thing. 
if you really think about it,
no one is eating so how can i?
when was the last time you saw
a birthday cake? once a nail 
goes into the wall
it isn't coming out. there are
two nails in the wall from whoever
had my room in this apartment
before me. i imagine them
hanging portraits of dolls.
i think a child lived here because
there are marker scribbles 
on the back of my door. what else
can you do but decide 
to be a toddler & grip a crayon
with your whole fist.
i've been throwing out a lot
of my life, really just all my candles 
with just a tiny sliver of wax left.
i saw a video online that shows you
how to peel that last bit out
but i dont have patience for that
so i waste them. i picture
a rat at the dump lighting my
"honey vanilla" candle & breathing in
the sweetness. i found caramels 
in the dirt & ate them greedily.
sharing is no longer an option
not in a world like this. 
soon there will be no trapeez artists
& no refridgerator doors.
my ice cream is melting 
somewhere on the horizon. i can feel
the slow seeping. 
i can feel the tragedy of cream
a bubbling planet. a sleepy rock.
my toes are not meant to be
so heavy. when i leave this place
someone else will find 
a beet lodged in the floor.
will they pull it out? i hope not.
things like this are best as
secrets passed from hand
to hand. there is certainyl
a great whisper coming. i miss the way
the sun used to sing lullabies 
to the moon. now they just
scream at each other. 

everyday, every morning, every night 

every sea shell in the world 
fits around my neck. i am making
jewerly to remember broken plates.
i eat off the carpet today,
laying on my stomach & pretending
i am a snake. all week i walk outside
& see an old man
smoking cigars on the back 
of a sow. i think about his lungs:
two black lakes. sticky wings.
he could fly away any minute
any day now. i have been
testing how long i can hold my breath.
i imagine the world is full of water
& i do a free style stroke
down main street. everything is sleeping.
swim lessons don't mean you are 
automatically a dolphin, 
you have to work your way up. you have to
eat synthetic crab meat & pretend
it tastes right. whatever you need
we can make it vegan. all the gloves
are blue & lonely. they walk
holding each other by the thumb.
soon, the sun will be cancelled
& we can move on. 
i cradle my leg like an infant
until it cries. my limbs 
sometimes have their on consciousnesses.
it is a constant battle 
to teach them empathy. my thumbs
are horrific & so is my heel. 
a power outage will save us 
from all the work 
we felt bad about not wanting to do.
there in an outlet in my heart.
there is a blender somewhere
making pulp out of terrible book,
the blades are getting caught
on the spine. i hope the man
is still out there tomorrow.
i hope he doesn't slaughter his pig
without letting emsay goodbye.
let me say goodbye again
& again & again. my last lover
turned into a firework 
& i took a video at least.
play it over & over. every morning
leaves a tooth on my doorstep.
every night takes it away.
there are payments you need to make
in order to maintain this position.
i pour quarters in the bushes. i wash 
my face in a puddle left by a broken pipe.

today this is not my life

& i am a video game waterfall full of pixels.
i open the windows wide as a shark's mouth 
until they grow teeth. knives live
behind my eyelids in a little town
that's very sharp. god is a hole
in time. he is getting wider.
i have a dream where my underwear 
is slippery & falls off in a pool.
my phone floats on the surface
as a dead rat. meanwhile, the subway rats
are playing truth or dare. they are
braiding the tail of a comet. 
i will miss everything tomorrow morning
when the mirage is over. the faucet 
spills fruit punch. i punch a straw 
through the shell of an egg & breathe.
how knows where your fingers go 
while you sleep. caterpillars on tree branches.
my father wants me to be 
a zoo keeper. he buys lions for me
& mails them in giant cardboard boxes.
they are always dead by the time they arrive
& i am forced to dispose of the bodies piecemeal 
the way you might how to break a part a piano
to fit it into black plastic bags.
sometimes i hope one lion will be alive
& he will eat me & then walk miles & miles
to the ocean, jump into the ocean 
& that somehow i will become 
a small island where tall grass grows 
& no one thinks
to land their ships. it is always better
to do things alone 
by which i mean
if you do it alone no one can see
you make mistakes 
& no one will ask you
why you left so much behind. my father
is often at my door. he is a school
of pirannah or a aluminum baseball bat.
how do you learn to live 
in one body? i miss the fog taking care
of us all. i miss my fingers 
when they're away.

on going 

when your plane takes off
i will turn it into a bird
& catch it with my bare hands
from the sky. 

the feeling of feather
on skin & you will sleep 
nestled inside the bird. 
what kind of bird

should i keep you in?
i have a love of barn owls
but they would be hard 
to hold onto. blue jays are bright

but there is not much leg room
inside a blue jay. i want you
to be comfortable. 
i want you to fly laying

on your back. eyes closed.
shavasana. the floor of the bird
rustling. a bird song
playing through your head.

do you remember when i told you
i dream of a huge hydrangea bush
to keep us all? i remember 
when you said you were

made of firewood & when you drove
with your left foot dangling 
out the window & when your jeepy
turned into a toad.

it does not have to be
a bird forever. i promise i will
let the plane return. let loud engine
replace a throat. 

did i get a chance to tell you
about how my brother & i 
used to make paper airplanes
& fly them across the living room all day.

i want to fold you carefully
to feel each edge again. i am 
standing on the roof of our apartment now
& i am in a sea of pigeons

none of which are you. i am feeding them
stories & poems & none of them
are you. i am tossing your plane
back where it belongs & 

it is becoming, finally,
a great machine designed for 
departure. i am a small machine
on the ground grasping at birds.