where do phones go when they die? what kind of god makes a body measured in percentages of breath-- i know that you will wake up again but i would feel better to know where you go-- we pretend are iPhones aren't are most intimate lovers-- inside my pocket i grip her body in my right hand-- cold body-- smooth body-- gentle body-- mirror mirror lover what do you see me in today? your eyes filter me-- fill me claredon lark--slumber--valencia ink well-- moon-- how many colors do you see in me-- oh & if i could only see them in myself-- i guess it's the impermanence of your small deaths that makes me contemplate my own-- you wake up again-- you remember me-- even if only faintly maybe in the darkness behind your screen you listened to me voice echoing through a night free of stars-- maybe you hear me say i love i love you into your receiver-- you feel your body become one of those phones with the long curly chords i twirl my finger around you & you pretend that you are the lover on the other line-- you tell me to lay on my back with you & we both look up at an empty sky-- maybe you wonder if you'll ever wake up-- if this sleep will be eternal-- & maybe you would hang my photographs up around your body-- every where you would turn would be my voice-- an echo echo echo of my hand around your body & just like that you taste air-- taste electricity spicy like red hot sauce dripped onto your tongue-- you blink you blink hello again
10/05
Apatosaurus body i sympathize with the Apatosaurus-- our bodies are so much to keep track of-- 70ft long & so many ferns to eat to stay alive-- my mouth hurts from chewing-- i don't know how i fit in my bedroom with my ribs so cavernous-- i pull the blinds shut on my windows so no one can see me fossilize-- i stand by the air conditioner in my purple boxers-- shirt off-- i feel my body grow into a jungle & then there i am-- i'm standing & all anyone can see are my bones & my father pints to my skull & tells me that the Apatosaurus was a gigantic herbivore-- that his steps were made of thunder & the people at the museum don't think to ask why the Apatosaurus is wearing purple boxers-- they nod & don't read the little plaque beneath me that reads his body was so much in my room i turn around & knock a pile of books off my desk with my long tail-- i keep the blinds shut to have a break from the museum goers pointing at my bones-- i'm taking them off femur by rib by pelvis-- reburying them in the backyard for someone to discover the skeleton of the mighty Apatosaurus whose body was too big to fit in his bedroom-- break windows with your foot steps-- stand naked & heavy with bones-- here take my rib-- plant a tree with it-- if you're patient & you wait it might just grow into an orchid-- quiet & tired of being so so much
10/04
What does god do with all the green in October? in his orange sweater & red canvas shoes God walks down main street -- the body of a little boy-- his skin is cold-- it's october-- the kind of cold that's lonely but still empty of winter-- he fills his jean pockets with green-- tree by tree by tree-- pulling the green off the leaves by the handful-- he tells the oak to hush as she weeps for virescence of her children-- she watches them rust-- bleed reds & drop brown on the sidewalk he runs his hand over her trunk & tells her that all our children must someday jump & fall on the pavement-- the wind moans & rips leaf after leaf from her hands-- he tells the earth to be quiet-- to be still-- to listen to a night without emeralds he says there is a certain beauty to dying in so many different colors & she doesn't believe him-- he keeps walks-- all full of green & he walks past the shop fronts where each building has spent decades falling in love with each other-- only to speak to each other in the murmur of porch lights & in the shadows of Gods who stroll this time in october-- he's headed down to stream-- dark-- face covered by the torsos of the white ash & red oaks-- their knees genuflecting in the shallow water-- there he empties himself of green-- green laughing & crying in the gossip of the water-- green full of mouths & kissing & sweat on our bodies-- green that remembered us knew us-- believed in us-- oh green unclasping hands-- green letting go-- floating belly up to another year-- God lit a cigarette-- the spark of his lighter bright against the black water-- he breathed a storm cloud from his lips & the store fronts looked at each other wide-eyed & in love it's october
10/03
orchard i filled my pockets with peach pits-- pushed them into the warm asphalt with my thumb-- yes this is time square this is where i will start build an orchard & you will tell me there's nothing to be done with all this light-- that the city eats peaches all through the night & i'll laugh & tell you that it eats apples-- only the really red kind-- horn will honk early the next morning when the first of the trees takes hold in the middle of the cross walk & tourists will take pictures & think that it's an installation art project-- a cabby will lean out the window to curse the thin trunk of the first brave peach tree-- she will grow wild from the blaring of the lights-- she will learn to swallow neon sun-- her fruit will grow rounder than the moon & the people will gather beneath her to stop-- to stop & her roots will begin to crack the sidewalk & a young boy with a blue backpack will be the first to eat one of her fruit-- each peach the color of the sunset wrapped around the statue of liberty's waist-- he tastes dusk-- sweet, musty, & slightly bitter he knows what to do with the seed-- pressed into the street-- the orchard began as a phenomenon of eating-- of hunger for fruit-- the people left their cars in the streets to watch the peach trees grow-- two burst through the McDonalds bright golden arches-- another smashed the windows of the M&M factory & all the while the people began to notice that the peach trees were consuming all the was left of the sound of the city at night-- fruit swelled with the blare of a bent bent trumpet wailing from the subway underground where the peach tree roots entangled around the lexington ave express-- EXPECT DELAYS the voice over the loud speaker repeat & repeats & repeats i'll walk out from my hotel & fill my backpack with peaches-- if any are bruised i'll just eat them right then-- sitting on a bench with a city full of people taking in the orchard we all planted i'll tell them i'm taking it with me when i go & even the cab drivers will beg me to let them stay-- when the world is dark-- & i mean all the way dark-- & the city finally sleeps after 100 years of light i will walk out again-- push the trees back into the street-- put the peach pits back into my pocket-- take the next bus from port authority back to kutztown & the city will wake up with the taste of dusk in her mouth--
10/03
1000 Sundays let's sleep 1000 sundays & wake up at the bottom of the snow-covered lake. you make me believe in the stillness of my own body. i went ice-skating on love & fell in--
10/02
what do our phones do while we sleep? i lay down with her-- electronic mother her soft glow screen whispering shadows into the darkness of my room-- she kisses my forehead full of pixels-- hums with the white charger chord dangling from her mouth like an unlit cigarette i tell her that we should get up early tomorrow i tell her wake me up at six am & again at six fifteen & again at seven-- she laughs because she knows i won't get up till seven-- i never get up till seven & i hold her warm body in my hands until my fingers loosen & i fall asleep-- alone there she watches me-- my chest rise & fall-- she listens to foot steps upstairs in the room above me-- she hear's a muffled laugh & it makes her feel lonely to live the life of an iPhone-- she imagines staying up late into the night in the body of a human-- she wishes i would take her dancing-- wrap my arms around her waist & tilt her like one of those salsa dancers-- she googles pictures of dresses & imagines a body to wear them on-- she scrolls monotonously & night is always so long-- she hears stifled sirens wailing red through town & she wants to run with them-- she wants to shout a body of flashing lights she wants to be louder & the sirens fade & she is alone she wants to get closer to me-- she likes to think that in another life we could have been lesbian lovers-- i've told her i'm a boy but she always says that's not the point & i understand the sentiment-- she opens up my messages & scrolls through my messages to you-- she's jealous, but also enamored of us-- she bites her lip-- reads under her breath-- i love u i love u i love yew goodnight sweet dreams <3 <3 <3 she keeps emojis under her tongue-- they taste like cherry throat lozenges-- bulbous hearts & blue winged butterflies & that smiley face that's also winking-- we use that one a lot-- she wants to write to you-- tell you that she's glad that i'm in love with someone who knows how to send love in fistfuls of imessages-- she peruses the messages between my mom & me too-- though mostly just to be nosy-- when she's not wishing she was my lover she's wishing she was my mom-- she says to me sometimes that she want to love all the parts of me-- that she does love all the parts of me & i click the button on the top right of her head & she goes dark-- she drove us home last night & i was nearly asleep-- alone there watching me sleep she imagines letting me sit shotgun-- recline my seat & fall asleep while she wove us under each stoplight-- there alone she watches me sleep-- she sighs silently & opens Facebook again to scroll scroll scroll
10/01
our god of Deisher Lane when i was eleven i could bike the circumference of the earth-- tennis balls in my pockets-- started top the hill on Deisher Lane-- road the momentum all the way to Turkey Hill where we stopped & you kissed me with cold slushie lips-- let's turn blue; it's october now after all i paper-clipped Pokemon cards to my spokes-- revered the engine inside a dream-- plucked leaves off holly bushes-- the sidewalk contorted until it turned to a gravel trail to drive through all the world's forests-- rubber trees & taiga & fern-- jaguars chased the smack smack smack of my playing card motor & oh the edge of the world was across the concrete bridge-- the one that over looked 222-- & the cars rushed beneath us like sea monsters from 16th century cartography-- this is the new world-- this is the edge we'd fallen off of-- our ships are made of driftwood & egg cartons-- the salt water wind kicked king-sized Reese-cup wrappers & Lays chip bags into the air-- they float like jelly fish-- undulating between the wheels of travelers who are also on a route of constant circumnavigation-- on the smug brick face of the high school my father & i played wall ball-- our bikes entangled beneath a chestnut tree-- pounding pounding on the stone-- pounding on the back step of heaven to ask god to keep us company in our town as wide as the world-- when you're eleven & your bike is unbound by gravity & sometimes accidentally takes flight-- i found myself riding the arched shoulders of the great wall of china-- pedaling beneath the Eiffel tower-- biking on the surface of the ocean & never sinking-- oh god i bike on water-- the creek by my house is filled with holy water-- i go alone sometimes-- tennis ball in my fist & it gets colder & it gets november & the world uses a brown belt to hold up it's dress pants-- i stand & with mismatched gloves i hurl the tennis balls-- neon planets at the brick-- crack-smack-thump at the front door of heaven to throw until the sunset blushes at my persistence-- god is a quiet god who takes the bounce out of tennis balls & flattens tires-- when i was eleven the world was only as high as the hill on Deisher Lane-- shifting into a high gear to climb-- i gained speed on trexler ave-- felt the bike leave the ground-- engine smacking-- it was god to lifted me & laid my blue bike down on the porch when i got home
09/30
dandelion hair i'm here to tell you all of my dandelion wishes & that way i won't have to ever know if they'll come true or not-- a secret is the kind of thing that bites a hole in your pocket-- it rests the size of a dime or jupiter-- a gas planet full of red eyes & storms-- does it count if your brother helps you blow off all the seeds? & where do they go to hide themselves where their wish-bodies can take root & grow more wishes for more little boys with knee-hole jeans there will be more-- there will always be more heads to wish on-- hold me by the neck-- the way you would a de-thorned rose-- blew my hair off into the back yard i'll grow--i'll grow i'll grow wishes the size of evergreen trees & laugh golden & everyone will have believed that i was a flower or a great planet yanking moons from the cosmos & keeping them in my pocket-- heavy as a handful of dimes when i was little i used to wish on the dandelions that god would show himself to me-- i told him that he could be anything-- a morning dove-- a fast gust of wind-- in church i would look at the oil wick flicker of the candles & i would ask him to blow them out-- blow out the fires for me to blow the storms off the forehead of jupiter & god laughed the lawn full of dandelions so that i could keep wishing-- god sat under the street lamp outside on the curb & he spoke a language spun only by august nights-- he spoke into my window & left the glass foggy-- i drew a heart in the mist-- oh & then when i was older-- when i was older enough to love you i blew the faces off dandelions to ask if we could hold onto each other's hair & even as i asked i saw you turning-- cheeks flushing white-- we will all inevitably turn back into wishes-- grow wild & fearless & yellow in our parents backyards the wind comes & the wind comes off jupiter-- a jingling handful of moons in its pocket she is so full of secrets that we'll all lose our hair-- wish hard on every strand -- sit down with me-- lay under the warmth of the street lamps-- i want to tell you all my dandelion wishes-- you don't have to tell me yours but if you did i would listen & keep them from blowing away in the wind shape in my pocket your strands of yellow hair & the solar system
09/29
Where do deleted pictures go? i select a handful of pictures of me & you-- you don't love me anymore but you did in this picture-- i kiss your cheek-- the world is made of pixels i turn-- i turn i turn to kiss your cheek-- we are made of lights i needed more space on my phone so i let us go-- & now i can't remember what necklace i was wearing or if your hair was wet from a shower did it smell like lavender or rosehips? i follow them (the pictures i deleted) i trace their foot steps up the beach in Wildwoof it's October & the mist off the ocean is cool the sunset is full of leaves i dip my feet in the water where the foot prints end i ask some bird watchers if they've seen a handful of pictures that i deleted off my iphone & they seem puzzled as if they've never tracked a photograph before i keep walking i go under the surf-- breath salt water & check the bellies of the horseshoe crabs-- their ancient bodies-- their blue blood they haven't seen my pictures i go to the stream-- over turn stones-- speak to crayfish (who all find humans to be quite irrational to be hunting so desperately for an image of themself) Narcissus narcissus they whisper i tell the crayfish it's more than that it's a memory-- it's a memory i forget how it felt to be so full of light bulbs-- so full of birthday cake icing how did you get me to eat a whole slice of the cheesecake moon? fresh black berries in our hair oh i loved you sitting on the back step night falls like an armful of books on my desk i double check behind library cards-- between flyleaf pages-- all the places i would hide i look up briefly & there is a new moon i stand up to ask God if he keeps them & i'm surprised when he drops down a rope ladder for me to climb up up there every cloud is buzzing with my old pictures-- gummy worm smiles ice cream sundaes blurry foot ball game lights my head rested on your chest a bright caterpillar with a map of the stars written on his back the angels sort-- carry box after box-- pouring them to make up the clouds he (in his sweater & corduroy pants) points to a box sitting alone the picture of us is on top i'm not wearing a necklace your hair smells like lavender
09/28
cat's cradle you loved me last night how i wanted how i always wanted-- you cupped me in your hands like a firefly or a toad-- soft skin & faint street lamp gentle & irrevocable-- no part of me could ever have escaped you-- & you told me that the telephone wires were the biggest lie-- that they were god playing cat's cradle with the cords-- threading his fingers in & out-- look it's the Eiffel tower-- the witches broom oh the cat's cradle the cat's cradle you slept with me in & we pulled out the telephone wires to listen to everyone's phone calls-- oh no-- not like the NSA-- we listened like god listens to the thighs of the crickets when night falls on all of earth at once-- when he slips the sun into his back pocket like a round golden watch & he listens to everything-- he hums along to our ticking-- the clock hands in our throats & no we're not gods but we have the telephone wires to listen to & we have our bodies hanging above it all-- your skin on mine is electric-- reach over will you & rinse off the moon in the sink? let's pretend it's new years & bang pots & pans in the driveway-- wake up the neighbors & tell them we decided that it's a new year-- it's a new year you will love me how i wanted to be loved-- hands cupped around firefly body flickering like the faint street lights tangled in his cat's cradle
