flickering bathroom light

i want to be less desperate
but i always come to the bathroom without hands.
the bulbs fill with moths
hungry for a bit of god. they take pictures.
spit the film into the air. our faces the size
of fingernails. 
once i followed the moths inside.
the light bulb was huge
like a gymnasium. i asked the moths,
"how long can we survive here?"
they said, "until you have to sleep."
my eyes became tunnels. the train ran through
them with her horn loud & wild. 
i walked to the very edge of the bulb.
looked out at the bathroom. it was like
seeing earth from space. me, the suiteless
astronaut. the moths left without me.
i had to break the bulb. glass in my hair.
glass on the floor. i picked shards from
my hands. cleaned up quiet as i could.
washed the wounds in the shower.
the mold had a voice it said,
"look at your teeth." crooked as ever.
the graveyard in my mouth. 
i felt embarrassed that i had, like the moths,
followed my stomach so far from 
my bones. then again, there must be 
a reason they always return. the bulbs go out
one by one. crowded train stations
or waiting rooms or maybe colosseums.
then the bathroom is dark & the mirror is 
a portal into the blue place.  i am the one
who replaces the lights. reaches to screw in
each new star. the room, drenched again
in white glow. the moths, waiting patiently 
like highwaymen on the crown of the room.  

mouthpiece

we never boiled the mouthpiece.
instead, the rubber jutted out from my lips.
a flash of blue whale. i put on my gloves.
two red planets. then my helmet.
we all smelled like teeth in the neon lights
of the strip mall dojo.
bare feet in the thick afternoon. 
i wanted to love fighting but i don't think
i ever did. i raise my gloves. waited for
the match to start. my father, bouncing
his knee from where he sat in a white 
plastic folding chair. i swallowed spit.
adjusted the ill-fitting mouthpiece.
i don't think i was meant to be a fighter
but in the heat of the match i could 
peel the world away like the lobes of 
an orange. find a fury & follow it.
the huge mirrors that hung on the wall
made twins of our fights. sometimes 
i would look at myself. i loved
seeming like a boy. i had my hair short.
the beast in my mouth. when i landed
a punch or a kick i always broke focus,
glanced to see if my father was watching.
he was. he always was. once a boy hit me
right in the mouth. the mouthpiece
came out. wet on the floor. i'd bitten my tongue.
taste of metal. blood on the blue mats.
i put the mouthpiece back in. kept fighting.
ended up winning somehow. we fought 
with points, counted by 
however many hits you could land.
afterward i went to the bathroom. 
a single stall with a flickering light. 
i opened my mouth. my teeth were each
framed red. my tongue, a river. 
i waited until it stopped to go back.
my dad was there. a whale in his mouth too.
he told me, "you got him. you got him
so good." i don't know what i felt. maybe
tired & proud & like the person who fought
was not me at all but a creature made of 
gloves & pads & a bulky helmet. 
i put my mouthpiece away in its case.

summer squash

i want to arrive yellow
with a duckling neck.
for the sun to feast me
while she sits on her hunches.
my seeds the used-up beads
of a great & marvelous face. 
nothing has taught me more
about abundance than summer squash.
the soil says, "there will be more."
you got sick of them last year.
i did not. i cut onions into eyelids.
fried them translucent as windows
& filled the pan with squash.
flecks of salt. i ate them standing.
carved them into boats. licked my fingers. 
when a downpour made a little river
in our yard, i climbed aboard.
flowed down the mountain
to where the frogs tell love stories.
their throats like little pocket watches.
we killed the afternoon together.
wiped its guts from between
our fingers. ate the boat. put squash flowers
on our heads & danced until you started
calling my cell phone. back at home,
you were worried about what we would do
when the summer was over. i did not
want to think about the future.
this is how i grew up. no promise of
a violet tomorrow. no sunset paintings.
hands in the dirt. eating what was ripe.
the squash are coming back. i want to 
come to the world like them. belly full
of sequins. a dress in the back of my throat.
i am already more than i need. 

what does not grow legs

i have watched whole cities walk away.
first the stop lights & then the mirrors.
sometimes on centipede knees & other times
with huge gangling thighs. calves bare & hairy. 
the neighbor girls shoving one last box 
into a beater car. rain coming soon. 
we all do what we must to get away.
the empty train rattled along in search
of feet. i remember once i was the only one
taking the line to the tip of the island's tongue.
you had already left. everyone had already left. 
i arrived just to hear the land beg, "don't go."
no one was there, just a few lost birds
& the ocean's cool breath. i replied,
"what do you want with me?" 
i see a video on tiktok about ways 
to leave the united states. you can pour yourself
into water bottles & throw them into the ocean.
you can bury yourself in a time capsule.
hope that when they dig you up
that the world is softer & less terrifying. 
i have seen this before in the city. the corner store
that turned into a bedroom. the windows 
who shut their eyes to sleep. i wish i was staying
out of conviction or strength. instead,
it is some vague sense of hunger. a desire
to keep something as the rest walks away.
i saw a streetlamp go yesterday. it had 
giraffe legs. walked slowly & with purpose,
as if it didn't want to leave. a light vanishing
just over the hill's forehead. 
darkness blooming wild in its wake. 

ethical consumption

we all get together to feel sorry
for the beautiful birds we're about to eat.
my dad says, "they taste like lungs."
we make a circle & the television
plays an ad about freedom. you say,
"maybe we could have enough to replace
the windows." there is a crack in the one
on the second floor that i've never told 
you about. i just keep hoping it'll go away.
the hunger becomes a house guest
then becomes a room. 
i lived on nothing but ground onions
for a whole spring. my stomach turned
sprout green & all the neighborhood kids
came to watch. i don't want to fly.
i don't want to purchase the next pair
of wings. instead, i want to sell my teeth
like pokemon cards. open my mouth
as wide as it will go. let all the birds back out.
watch their flesh return to bone. 
when we ran out of food on year
my family drew straws to decide 
who hand we would eat. it was mine.
they all said, "don't worry it will grow back."
never believe anyone if they tell you this.
it will not grow back the same. i had watched
my mother's hand return like an early daffodil,
crumpled & loud. always tasting like
bitter herbs. an application for a passport.
my gender, a little light switch made.
i hardly ever eat until i've full. mostly,
i'm starving & then sick. in a pot 
i watch as my mom makes the hand.
we don't know whose it is tonight. the birds
are all gathered on the roof in protest.
i go outside to try to apologize. they are
playing a video game with a glowing god. 
a ghost passes by on the street wearing 
a shopping back on her back like a snail. 

through the sun 

i buy a football & take it down to where
you used to talk to me gentle. when we were
not hunched over & eating kindling
to stay alive. there were these caterpillars
who knew our names. they knit us socks
& we used them to walk on water. 
do you remember when it rained so hard
i lost all my hair? i was just a shiny
little thumb. i bought you flowers. i knew
how to love you. since i was a bulb in the dirt
i've been afraid of sleeping through the day.
pressing the sun like a silver dollar
into the soil. we have all tried to grow money trees.
we have all tried love spells. me & you  
& the smell of spring onions. their fingers
playing with the temperature dial.
i use the football to throw at the clouds until
they bruise. i want to see how purple it all can get.
i wish i still believed in half the things i did
when i met you. that survival had more
to do with blood than money. that a house
could hold everything you need it to.
you told me the neighbors used to have pigs.
i see their ghosts sometimes. i bring them
my teeth when they fall out. on our worst nights
i want to join them. get down on my hands
& knees & search for bones. i have watched
gold pouring from a man's mouth in
the brutal morning light. i thought i would
always want to take you with me. how do we
find each other on the other side of a perfect wound?
i keep my wants tucked behind the ear
of the oldest tree in the yard. she says,
"you have to tell him the truth." instead, i sleep
as long as the otherworld will have me.
suns spilling down the mountain's leg. 
tell me, my love, how do we keep each other?

the devil's sleep

i buy a time machine on facebook market place.
it is missing a footrest but i have never needed
to be comfortable. i'm surprised 
it fits in the corolla's trunk. i don't tell anyone.
i don't know what i even want 
to do with it. if i were left to my own devices
i would sleep so fucking long. i think i would sleep
until i turned into a patch of moss.
i know i am depressed so i lie on those questions
that doctors ask. they say like, "how often
have you believed in ghosts today" & i waive
my hand & say, "not really at all." there is
a ghost right there & another & another.
i could go back to dinosaur times. maybe there would
be some really sick fruit waiting to be eaten.
or i could go even further & tell the animals
never to come up on land. our first mistake.
since i was young i've had this problem where
i make myself get up earlier & earlier until
i don't sleep at all. i have sometimes believed i was
addicted to the night or else maybe i was, 
in another life, the vigil keeper. the one who
waits & watches to see just what kind of choices
all the teeth will make. the sofa is the best place
to sleep & i don't care what anyone says.
in the old apartment, the dogs would come
& sleep between my legs. the time machine 
should maybe stay a secret. i think people i love
would be upset with me for dreaming
of undoing everything. plucking myself 
with a pair of tweezers from between
the eyebrows of this little sleepy life. the ghosts
lay down next to me. they have melon breath
& we all melt together. when you wake me up
the windows are dark. i ask you, "what time is it?" 
the clocks are all made of stone. you admit, "it is late."

partial sonnet (you decide which part)

i get on a plane without any wings.
it is really just a flock of pins. plant me 
in the ugly place. i wish i could fix the world
for you. isn't that what love is?
the sewing bags from goodwill complete
with thimbles. i fill one with honey & milk
& we go bury our beautifuls underneath
the long neck tree. i don't need a car.
i don't need a gun. i just need a finger's length
of licorice & a sliver of moon. they say that
if you want to be a poet you need to have
a command of language. i would disagree.
i think you need to bend over & let the
consonants do what they want. i used to make
money by being a pilot for empty planes.
we would fly over the hole in the map 
where all the unfulfilled milkshake orders go.
get wild on heavy cream & gas station roses.
maybe one day i'll try to get real formal.
apply to all the poet things & take professional
faces to show the world. for right now
all i have is a favorite spoon & the birds
who come to pay their respects. i tell them,
"i'm not dead you know?" they reply, "yet."

look-away rooms

you tell me there is a man in the mailbox again.
i go out there & find a television. 
there is never a man but there is always a talisman. 
carry it to the compost & ask it, "please go easy." 
ants spill from its mouth. a sputtering video 
about the lives we lived before we 
had fingers. on my phone someone is
asking their friend if shrimp have brains.
i want to shake them. of course they do.
we are all always thinking about who
will love us & who will eat us. if we were shrimp
i would compliment the length of your antennae. 
how you clean the mouths of gods. 
we drive home & the car grows millipede legs.
you close your eyes & say,
"the man is back." you are driving.
there is no man. nothing. just a road full
of optional deaths. the billboard that advertises 
plastic surgery & the billboard that tells us,
"it is time for money." i want to tell you
to pull over but i know you like you drive
when you're feeling impossible. i find another tv
on the porch when we get home
& this time i take it to the look-away room.
the long closet with all the skeletons & all the bills
& all the clothes we don't know what to do with. 
i wonder about putting myself 
in the room. if it would eat me or if i would
learn how to live there. sometimes life
closes around you like a drawstring bag.
other times you really feel like the meadows
are eternal & not always under threat
of being transformed into warehouses.
i pet your head. your eyes are like hard boiled eggs.
i wish there was a man. something real i could
wrestle to the ground. who i could feed
to the look-away room with the broken chairs.
instead, your fears are like mine. standing right
there. full of blood. gone in the flashlight.
standing always jut over an arm's length away. 

lovespoon

you fell the echo tree.
axes & worms. 
the spoon, a little rib. the roots
still clenched in the ground.
what heads have you cut off? what hands?
as a lover, i want all the gifts. 
i want bones with our names
cut into them. i want a rocking horse
for our future ghosts to play with.
i want a lovespoon with a chain 
around its neck. who taught us
to want to keep each other
both like birds & like bulbs?
hold me not in the mouth
but in the woodwork. i want to be
shaped by your hands. breathe only
when you cut the heart, an eye
in the middle of the wood
for us to look at each other through.
i see a tiny snow globe place. a house
without gods. a knife. the one you used
to make me from. all the shavings.
the eyelids of the tree still blinking
away in the cellar. a gift
sometimes lives longer than the love.
not this one. the spoon is bound
for a tired museum. behind the glass.
a little placard that reads, "lovespoon,
they fell asleep on its tongue
until they both turned into stag & ran."