what part of now will be
preserved? The lights over
the river, hovering then taking off
the donkey under the tarp
the constant offering from cats
of mice, lizards, once a
painted bunting, once a snake while
I was masturbating
Once I saw the cat stalking
the ducks – when they see him
they stand up
he saunters off like this
was never his intention
my intention can be unruly
I broadcast in wide gestures
or none at all
be careful with the moon
as it is not your ally
your coat beguiles formal
black with green, purple
you dance first
walk with your hips
seem to be most alive
when others can’t see you
so what are you now?
ghost alive
like a cat
overwhelmed enough to bite
then immediately regretful
embarassed, therefore
more likely to bite
it envenomates the feeling
I’m not sure which is which
whether the light
is actually the light
or the lack thereof
the truth is
I don’t want to talk
to anybody
the end suits me
when she called
I lied and leveraged
something very real
when you’re around
I don’t know to feel
because I feel great
when you’re gone
it’s like
I have so much
catching up
to do
rain looks likely
which out here
makes us scurry to
burn things
that are piling up
the weed thing
the food thing
the sleep thing
the dreams
stuck together like
broken furniture
intertwined
clinging to each other
I get home and you’re
bored, so I’m scared
you’re the best thing
I’ve got going
I’m throwing
these things in
I see the neighbor’s fire
hit the tree
sparks threaten
to crawl like ants
towards our house
towards me and
all this wood
towards you and
wherever you are
in there
but the rain comes
as expected
it allows the fire to
process without
consuming itself
or so it assumes
as the fire assumes
it can quit when it wants
so more and more
is just thrown in
like us
a getting-through-shit
machine
a knot through which
the accelerant
is love
I was meant to give myself
entirely to something
by now
but each time I say it
my face seems smaller
my beard like ivy on a wall
I am both good and
bad things pretended
but in nature
I am exonerated
I have a cat’s
imagination
under the table
this is how I forgive myself
to build without
touching the mountain
to set up all the little
people
I was meant to give myself
entirely to something
by now… can it be you?
you put a blanket
on the window, close off
all rooms to this room
your jar lids pop
in adjacent counties
ice crumbles into the sky
our breath remains obvious
counted
we lower our portions
beyond the curtain
is a frozen planet inside
a warm vent
another chance to make a life
to remake life in our image
a ball of heat
the twelve minute race
however long
we must hold this embrace
always interrupt me for
animals or ghosts
food-related reasons
bathroom
a sound you
hear the car making
my exit
a song on the radio in
need of lifting
or a heavy thing
land upon
my head
wake me up with tears
if I am cold
slipped like petals
on the sheets
like grief
drawn by a fly
or a bird
hiding its hurt
stop me at the edge
if I get too close
hold my body in
point me towards
the beginning
and set me down
to exist beyond
the worst
having happened
is not the end
of fear
but a full lap
the kids will
often
bring me things
one brings a mermaid
I take its
temperature
one brings
a transformer
it lights up
another brings
a bear that is so soft
it feels alive
maybe it is alive
we’ll keep
its secret
it hides
in the child’s
arms
slips
behind
her voice
around the breath
beneath
the door
mutating
undulate along
the air
like a virus –
evading its end
by
pretending
it’s
not real
I worry you will learn something
that takes you away
a balloon you forget
to let go of
or choose not to
I will grab a balloon
and follow, though
in the sky
I have even less
direction
no bones to block it
no blood
maybe they will put
all the reds together
maybe it has to do with the air
it is exhausting trying to plan
my plans, I fear, are me
choice animating thought
a quarter machine
who grabbed me? do I have control
over where I am? is
control like a thought
should I let it go? is it the same?
I swim through the air in
my best clothing
careful to match the color of cloud
but it’s different when you’re in it
it’s obvious
it ruins it
don’t go
don’t look at me
don’t go
if you put a carcass
on the roof, the rats
will get it before
the birds
I do my coughing
on the roof
you do your
proving
you impress the doctor
with a bouquet
I ask stupid questions
that I hope
sound like love
then we go get ice cream
you choose something brilliant
I get chocolate
people celebrate
having finished the maze
never mind
getting out
then drive up and down
the one road
negative
in string lights
revving their lack
of ideas
like the start of a new
world until boom
it appears, and
we’re here, this tiny beach
with not enough space to
space out
as we float on bars
sit on each other
sink the land
into the sea
once I let the machines
repair my body
they power washed my stomach
drilled relief
into my tail
one guy spent the entire time
in my jaw, just scraping
they must have missed some
anxiety, I guess – what I
described to my parents as
a knife above my chest
not stabbing, just hovering there
I’ve got it down to my tummy
I’m trying to push it out
I’ve ejected my appendix
anxiety – what I describe now
as a strange fungus
aboard a ship
oh to cut it loose
watch it drift into the cold
never to return
never to wonder if you love me
to devalue your love so
never to make things wrong
because it’s easier
because I know these things by
prescription, or strand
because I blame them
or make them disappear to
appear changed
it’s still here
it’s in the room with us now
one day I will loose my hair
my eyesight
my home planet
one day there will be a voice
the one who keeps anxiety
at all costs
from reaching my hands
the poles
dowels in every pore
make the rope you make
around my wrists
nothing can escape when we go
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