i have been spending a lot of time in the "seasonal" section of Giant-- drenched in red & pink heart shaped boxes of chocolate-- stuffed animal hearts hearts warm blood pulse their stitched 'i love you's i know i'll say something snarky about Sweaheart candies & the romance capitalism complex but the truth is i adore Valentines day-- i watch the other people in the aisle & try to imagine who they're thinking about while lingering there at 6pm on a Thursday night in January-- whose kiss are they living in? whose love are they fumbling for? in the form of heart shapes that don't even emulate our own muscle thrusting blood down the rivers of our veins-- dripping onto the linoleum floor-- it's a kind of bleeding isn't it? chocolate melting in my hands as i peruse all the boxes i could give someone-- yes i'm here thinking about you-- about how clumsy it is to have feelings about how i pressed roses in my father's atlases & how in 2nd grade we had to give everyone in our class Valentines but that i held onto the ones for my crushes a little bit longer-- taping the best candies to their cut-out purple hearts-- the girl next to me in the aisle for valentines-believers is inspecting a chocolate rose-- to leave on the kitchen table for her girlfriend to find when she gets home-- a little further a man in a red flannel is holding a plush rabbit & cat trying to remember which animal his wife likes more-- i love valentines day because it's so so frantic-- to imperfect & terrifying-- make material your feelings for someone else-- we know we're graceles in this aisle together-- as graceless as we are the first time we discover our blood moving too quickly for us to catch-- these are the currents you pull in me-- the red & pink hearts-- i don't like to buy anything for valentines day but i wanted you to know how every time i go to the super market i push my cart down this aisle & meander in thoughts of you-- i throb-- uncoordinated & cumbersome-- i'm an inelegant mess-- wrap me in cellophane-- you make me red & heart-shaped
01/23
cloud fall & the clouds came down as the animals we saw in them-- hoof & claw-- steam & stampede-- clamor of glasses in the cupboard-- i peeled open my blinds to see them all-- grey to white their bodies left up to interpretation-- you saw a dragon & i saw the scowling face of a teacher i had in elementary school-- the one who made me sit on the brick wall during recess-- i took inventory of the clouds-- read their body prophecies-- the rain is of course coming-- balanced on the heads of the elephants-- ripped from the ocean in the teeth of the mermaids-- sharp pairing knives-- slice your strawberries in half to make hearts-- i beat blood into my pale palms as a promise to always read the clouds-- listen to their commotion as they ascend-- make stair cases of the shingles-- slide down lamp posts on main street-- touch down to earth-- a thick fog of tails & tomorrow-- tomorrow will i get to be a cloud-- i want hollow bones & a larger wing span-- i want to be mistaken for a magpie & a snowy owl-- feathers of oak leaf & snowfall-- everything is melting isn't it? me & you & the animals born each morning from an unsuspecting cloud-- are we then the parents? the guardians of so many sets of eyes & hind legs setting forth to peruse the dirt-- kiss mud into water-- slip into puddles as deep as rivers-- today the clouds are rapid-- chasing each other home-- i follow them in my car until they hide beneath the hem of the horizon as the sun becomes an oreo cookie dunked in a clear glass of milk-- sweet cream & crumbling-- i can taste chocolate when we kiss-- when you run a hand through my hair & realize how volatile this body is-- an assembly of vapors-- yes i traded my flesh for the same body as the cloud animals-- i wanted to run at the command of the wind-- i wanted you to look at me & tell me what i should be-- a giraffe-- a blue whale-- a hand clutching a silver dollar-- a plump crooked nose-- come stand outside in the fog & the mist & wait for me to come down the staircase-- hair still damp from a midnight shower-- my checkerboard boxers all green & white & blue-- i'll stand there & wait for you to make a cloud of me all the while the storm gathers enough hooves pour-- kiss me when i'm grey & illegible-- careful of what you see in me-- i might be a snake or a fern tree or simply a boy who dissapears on occasion into cloud
01/22
assemble us here, will you take the instructions? unfold-- let's read each other like maps-- like desk drawers & lamp lights-- i click on with the push of a button just like a good star-- drill gun in hand-- these bodies are in assembly-- knees & wood floor-- i want to put myself together beside you-- keep me company-- this is a process & i'm still learning what pieces are missing-- what screws dropped from my elbows while i was too busy being a sofa for bodies to press into-- come home to me in the ikea show room-- the faucets don't work but that's what we have rain for-- that's why we cut windows with scissors-- break open the card board ceiling-- i'll plant you a tree on the roof top-- one that grows taller than the sky scrapers-- one that challenges the glossy silver eyes of the building in center city-- take you shoes off in me-- stay while-- a body is a kind of gathering-- a congregation of wood & pressure-- i've never been one to read instructions-- i've been winging it thus far so that's probably why i have so many handfuls of screws-- they're probably very important-- i keep them in my pockets in case i start to come apart-- i want to come apart with you & back together & re-assembled into new shapes-- watch me be water-- an end table-- a windowsill-- open me to let in a breeze loud enough to knock your mail off the kitchen table-- i've never been broken-- just in assembly-- in the process of finding enough parts to be a place i can lay myself down again-- oh are you a ceiling or are you a book shelf? both are great places to sleep when a bed is to vast for tonight's dream-- when you walk me out to my car i want to pull you into the back seat-- kick off the car roof & look up towards the night sky-- shy in the wake of the city lights-- we'd coax them out with open palms & iPhone flashlights-- come home to me-- come home to me-- you make my handfuls of screws melt like the snow-- fold the instructions into a paper airplane-- come visit on that gust still breathing in your open window--
01/21
on emptying the ocean i thought i could see the ocean falling off the side of earth-- waterfall into space-- faucet pouring from the forehead of the sun-- these are bullet holes-- these are salt-water wounds-- these are the stories we will tell the soil when the drought is here & we are all dry earth-- we'll start with sand box shovels & blue pales-- brother, oh brother come down with me where the shore is the crooked smirk of god-- laughing at the absurdity of two young boys who want to empty the ocean-- boulders for teeth-- trust only the tide pools-- the star fish pushing debris through their lips-- crack conch shells-- use sand dollars as prayer beads-- one handful at a time-- that's how you dismantle an ocean-- how you become something vast-- like most humans i think about the ocean & the stars too much-- it's a vague attempt at augmentation-- diffusing into space-- let me be plankton or pollen-- you have to commit to the whole thing-- starting here at the atlantic & moving on to the mediterranean-- the pacific-- all oceans are the ocean are the rivers & have been snow-- yes yes there's blood that has been snow but if we pour out the oceans the boats will have to learn how to fly & maybe just maybe the moon will find something more productive to do then tousling the waves every single day-- maybe she'll take up quilting or piano-- playing the knuckles of buildings-- minor key mother-- this will of course take awhile & i don't expect you to stay with me-- cup your hands & take yourself apart in puddles of water-- let's make marshes-- splash in the blue rivers of our own blood-- is that the tigris & the euphrates painting our arms in reeds & papyrus? is this were we first met water & where we decided to take it apart? bring your gallon jugs & your blue recycling barrels i want to make raw the ocean floor-- parched ship wrecks & tired giant squids strewn out like party streamers-- schools of tuna attempting to inhale air-- this is for their own good-- for the water to sink back into the dirt-- back into our skin-- let us be oceans without them-- without the moon tugging at us with her needle & thread-- let us bring our penance to the tide pools where our seven-year-old bodies will finally go to sleep & be mischievous-- bring driftwood & sunday morning church bells-- cracked as they speak-- we will stand at the edge & say we have done it-- we have done it-- we have spilled the whole ocean with our hands--
01/20
a plethora of birds oh disastrous me-- milk chocolate melting pocket full-- gold coin & tin foil teeth-- there are more & more birds this year i've noticed-- they gossip in the bamboo-- they eat the snow when we're asleep-- mouths of white nameless & shadowed-- they are not a species but rather they are a human emotion-- the feeling of being watched-- manifest the flock-- the cacophony of feather & treacherous bodies-- do you trust the surface of your skin? it was me-- i am the boy who swallows birds-- they come without petition-- perch on my wrists-- i'm tired of asking other people if they're ready to accept me-- if they're ready to read the parable of my bones if they're scared of needles-- if they can see the red threads stitching my rib cage from swinging open-- oh, mother, your son is scared of birds-- his storm is red & he has tattooed his apologies onto his bones too many time-- they bell ring with your church-- your son in full of talon & black beak-- hollowing himself out like a pumpkin so that a candle can rest in his throat-- this is me-- this is me watching my own extinction-- like a fairy what is a boy who is un-believed ? if i eat the birds will they stop calling me that name? is there enough room inside myself to hold that kind of pain? there's more & more-- yesterday they followed me back to my front porch-- tearing the telephone wires out from the clouds-- sparks falling around me-- the world ends so monstrously frequently-- i'm quite used to it-- i light candles-- i ignore the stories-- clutch like seeds oh sometimes i fantasize about you holding back my hair while i kneel-- regurgitating this ache bird by bird by bird -- that's how you said we would survive-- one wing at a time-- i'm so so tired-- i'm so so full you help extract them from my lips-- dry from feathers-- spitting blood & knees-- you tell me you trust me-- you tell me there are no birds where we are going-- in this story you shut the windows & we eat peppermint pinwheels to ease the sting left in our mouths-- you open the medicine cabinet & let me sleep inside-- you do not tell anyone you have a son-- you will tell the neighbors that your daughter swallowed a plethora of birds-- died wearing tin foil teeth & pockets to deep for us to reach into
01/19
on the persistent desire to be a red balloon i blew my soul into a red balloon-- it hardly fit-- like a jostling corridor or city avenue-- shoulder nudge shoulder-- i stepped on my own feet & breath by breath i forced myself inside-- all my air-- pillow thoughts & alphabets exhaled between my lips & into the illusion of rubber-- the cavernous quiet of the balloon-- i had wanted to feel dark & quiet-- like walking back into an egg shell-- cracked beneath bare feet-- the kitchen is full of wooden spoon & whisks & we keep the leftover birthday balloon in the top drawer next to the matches-- upon the windows so i can set out-- if you cannot trust the wind then what are you doing here? where do you put your soul when you are tired & wanting refuge? mine doesn't fit in coat pockets anymore-- eager for altitude-- does you soul climb ladders if left unattended? mine does-- like a moth desperate to fly deeper into a sun-- to dip into light i too have a body that craves height-- here i go-- ribbon tied neck-- tail whipping-- children pointing at the balloon gone astray-- bright against the greyish blue afternoon & soon the sunset will wash all of our feet with her hair-- teach us to love bruising & take inventory of our orange scars-- if you see me don't say any prayers-- i'm sneaking up into heaven with my warm-breathing soul-- these are the acrobatics of fate-- if you believe in that sort of thing-- i don't i just know that whatever heaven is that it must be somewhere beyond the clouds & that it is probably best reached by absurd acts of trust such as letting go of yourself in the form of an old birthday balloon left over from when you turned 7 & everyone wore party hats & you licked frosting roses from the corners of sheet cake-- who is to say that the back yard is no a sheet cake & you just haven't checked? my hands are sticky from all this sugar-- all these frosting spoons & whisks in the kitchen-- steal yourself a fist of utensils-- i am smart enough to know heaven will not be all it's cracked up to be-- that's why i'm coming prepared with cooking implements & a sense of disappointment-- i have found for me at least it is better to embrace worse-case-scenarios-- kiss your unhappy endings & dog ear pages when you're not ready to read anymore-- for now i'll be the red balloon-- the one children point at-- reaching casually towards even though i am already so so catastrophically unbound-- their parents will open the top kitchen drawers-- pass fingers over their own unused balloons & consider if they could exhale themselves into the same small quiet space-- come up here-- what would it take for you to emanate yourself? bruised & beautiful
01/18
orion teach me string taut between two fingers-- Orion take aim-- i want to learn how to shoot a bow & arrow with the same kind of precision as a boy who wears stars for a belt-- zeta, epsilon, delta-- has your anger diminished over the years? faded from centuries of hunting or have you burned yourself hotter as a body without a landscape-- you touch me & my skin ignites into dust-- spiral down in me-- the matter of the solar system is only a merry-go-round-- a carousel of light making bodies-- making hunters-- what beasts do you aim at? what lovers? when you stepped back down to earth & flung rocks at my window i almost didn't recognize you without all the commotion of the night sky but it was you alright-- chest bare-- ankle deep in the snow-- following footprints to the back porch where a girl wrapped in her green bathrobe puts out a cigarette in the stoop & slips in the back door when she sees you-- there's no hiding the kind of fires in your hair-- i'm not asking you to love me i'm asking you to teach me-- i want to learn how to pull back the arrow like you do-- how to fight scorpions-- how to banish the cold from my flesh-- reject ground & earth-- fix myself steady in the night-- you know i have been watching you since the first time not father put me on his shoulders & pointed to stars-- you were the first one we found & he told me about your red giant-- about the maroon blood star vessel bursting from your arm-- does it hurt you? do you feel it when you head in for sleep-- when no one's eyes look up & you can rest-- curled up at the feet for bears & crustaceans-- you can sleep here tonight you know? there's enough room on the floor by my bed -- you can rest here-- take the night off from all the foot prints & the ache of firing arrows into the void mouth of innumerable monsters-- tell me orion-- am i a monster? the kind who would feel an arrow if it were to be shot through me-- sometimes i feel numb-- like you could skewer me & i might not notice-- oh please keep me company-- i'll pull open the blinds of the windows-- you can point out where you usually sit-- the big empty corredor of stars-- we can take turns throwing rocks at windows-- crack glass-- we'll be careful-- we'll get to bed in time for you to find you way home-- you sit behind me-- take my hands in yours & help me pull back to the arrow-- we aim--
01/17
a poem for the tree outside your apartment-- crack sidewalk-- shatter asphalt-- i want to highway-fracture -- reject the limitations of my gravity like the maple tree kicking herself deeper into the throbbing street-light heart of the city-- there are at least 10 red lights & 6 stop signs to get out of this city & each one is another invitation to stay-- live entangled in the soft reverberations of your skin on mine-- knot me in root & gravel-- i want to know if the tree has any intention of walking home-- i want to know if you have a pair of scissors so i can cut a few miles off this highway-- tie exits together to take away some of the miles between me & you-- 28-- there's exactly 28 miles from me to you & it's snowing right now so it would probably take longer than usual & that tree submerged in the sidewalk is probably peering in the windows in the hopes someone will let them inside-- offer them a cup of early grey tea to un-thaw their limbs-- where do you keep your green in the winter? i don't want to be clouds even though i'd like to take more time to look at them as they tear out their own hair with admiration for the wind-- do you ever feel cloud-like? i want to sleep in with you till the sun gives up on us & invites the maple tree to kneel-- to take a break from standing so tall for so long-- you dig up the quiet in me-- the patience for merging onto another highway-- praying to a headlight-- i'll text you when i get home-- i'll let you know i'm thinking of you in my own bed-- arms across my chest sarcophagus-sleep with me-- chalk write my body on the walls-- my poems rub off to make room for more-- none of the ones i write for you are finished yet-- i'm here questioning the rebellious tree outside your apartment if i could have asked for one more kiss before you walked back up the street-- even your shadow is too damn beautiful-- i regard the radio tower lights in the distance as red red angles--
01/16
alternate uses for wedding dresses 1 snowflakes-- this is what scissors are for-- for making cloth into water crystals-- veil after veil-- make me a promise-- just one 2 what are you thinking about? 3 a sleeping bag-- the backseat of my car has been a living room-- take your shoes off at the door 4 become a cloud & let the children point at you & guess what animal you are 5 paper napkins for our laps at the diner where the biplanes turn into angles out the big glass windows-- dad doesn't notice 6 parachute off the arm of the sofa-- off the knee of a horizon mountain-- call the rocks 'grandfather' 7 communion dress-- 8 ice the birthday cake-- take the corner piece for yourself 9 table cloth me with your elbows 10 come out of the dressing room-- show us 11 curtains-- light bleeding through your skin-- what good is blood when all it does is escape 12 tourniquet at the thigh-- you are an atrophy-- a frayed wire selling smoke-- burn down the fire place 13 kindling-- 1 has someone else worn my mom's wedding dress? were they in love or fear? 2 what are you thinking about now? 3 wrap yourself tighter when you sleep-- make use of your tongue as a bow-- 4 when you rain make it sleet so they know you were dirty 5 wear reds lips wipe off your mouth-- leave it on a napkin in the bathroom for another girl 6 if you happen to experience flight don't tell anyone else-- when you land you will be on the other side of the boarder escape 7 cross yourself 8 lick icing from your fingers 9 break the list-- fold it into a paper airplane-- 10 follow the bread trail Amelia Earhart left when she turned into a wedding dress 1 i'm telling you this so you know all there is to be done with spare white clothe 1 i'm telling you this because i have scissors & a mountain & a mouth
01/15
overdue when i have no where else left i can rest i will come back to apologize-- crawl hands & knees into the return slot at the library up the street from my parent's house-- the library where i'm terribly overdue-- rubbing stamp faded from my spine-- can you still read the date i was supposed to come back? somewhere in june 2012-- dead of night when the angles walk on the fourth floor & the children's books flap their pages in an attempt to perch on higher shelves-- i put my finger to my lips to hush them as the romance novels try to serenade me & i explain that i'm "mostly gay" & am uninterested in what they have to offer-- i use my phone as a flash light-- the water fountain will offer to baptize me before i go to sleep-- i want to feel as light as a paperback-- i didn't mean to to be away so long-- i meant to return myself years ago on one of those haphazard afternoon when i drove back to kutztown-- i'm in the process of digging up roots & finding clay pots to re-plant them in-- each time i come back i find more-- in the carpet of the dollar tree-- thick veins-- hear beat beneath the sidewalks-- this town throbs in me like bruise-- sky turning egg plant out the windows-- is that the sun coming up already? i find a shelf to curl up on-- back towards the room like a good book-- i'm near the cook books & one aisle over i can make out the monsterous body of the encyclopedia growling-- hungry for more definitions-- he bites down on the dictionary-- bleeding nouns-- black letters on the blue carpet-- i know it is best to stay still so as to not disturb him as he works-- who knew the acquisition of language was such a violent task-- a page turned scar-- i rest my head on the shoulder of the book beside me & she laughs-- she kisses my forehead & recites a recipe for tikka masala-- a lullaby-- i put my arm around her & turn to one of my poems written on a rib-- she adores it-- she tells me i should sleep & in the morning i'll wake up to the sound of lighting gradually turning my pages yellow & brittle-- the dictionaries say their prayers as i turn to my flyleaf page to rest--
