Tagged: my Best
After Choking You in My Sleep
the dead must be hungry
the way they present themselves
to me – half a hand out
hollow legs
shrinking then wrapping
the corners as if embarrassed
I would be too
all that work to be dead
and still begging
not that I’m any safer here
stairs are one of the most
haunted places on Earth. I
could be sitting in a portal, or in the body
of something larger
someone’s work or unrequited love
a prison, the defense
of a choke-point
whatever it is, I feel its interest
it shakes my insides as if
listening for seed
it lands on me when
I’m not careful
forms to vacancies like
an owl to the tree
like your voice to my ear
when I’m sure you’re lying
or is it, when I’m sure
I would have lied
is it me? I am poltergeist
through misplaced energy
through dreams of fame turned
malevolent humility
inside lurks
the big black mass
of ever losing you, especially
to me
Activity
I am writing again, which
feels like the wrong thing
behind me
there are thousands of figures
symbols for lost time
like a chair is not its word
“chair” a person
is not his name
nor is he what he leaves
behind
he is not named
“gunk in corners”
though he resides there
with no need for sitting, writing
now he sinks
where chairs were
leaving behind residue
like ink
on the paper
at night
How to Release Dead Animals
it is hot and windy. your face
is probably covered in hair
your body out
I am reminded of the animals
I’ve kept, some of which have
died in my care – snails
toads, spiders – clearly dead
(some had been melted
in tupperwares in which
I had also caught a star)
now back into the wild
unable to throw them away
unsure of their use now, as they
no longer moved in my room
unsure of where it was
I had found them
running away, around
this whole time, open
mouth against clear
sloped walls
even the rocks I’ve kept, like
tears hidden up my nose
or in my ears
I’ve wanted to keep forever
my ultimate stubbornness
to be an everything-sized cage
to be your whole world
suddenly my mouth is full
I set the dead on the knape
of the Earth, an armadillo
rooting its vast, known circle
flinching, closing
the dead to skitter off one day
the Earth to have rings
the dead to die again and
again, having lived
again I am unsure about
the size of the world
where the color goes
on captive animals
why they feel different
how they could have died
if I can love something
without having to have it
Flat Earth
I remember in church
a woman was having trouble
praying to God
sexually abused
by her father and now her husband
she couldn’t take another man
Make God a woman, the pastor
told her. Granted, this
was a Methodist church
Mom liked it for the choir
Dad always felt
he could ignore what he didn’t like
the matter of interpretation
heavy. some things did happen. we
did slay our memories
we did find a dead spot
in the woods
i knew of it
in the way one knows our planet
through pictures
through the elements of trust
wind, fire, through blood
like a meteor disintegrated
how can I ever
get far enough away
to see
what is really the world
to see it touched
by the hands
we are told mean time
and know the forest
for the stars
how on Earth
will I recognize
my mother, her face
like there had been people
After Climbing a Tree
half of you begins alone
cast in doubt among rocks
by chance fossilized
inexplicably timed
asked to trust the atmosphere
to observe your body’s
race into alignment
without really participating
the mind wields
a sword-stick
of soul
time will enclose
the others, their colorful
straws poked through
puddles of air
you learn man
from dangerous man
the mountain range
at which love
becomes too much
you know things like
righty, tighty
lefty, loosey
bleed the faucets
for a freeze
my father will always
come get me, even
if I’m not myself
night brings the sun
in, out of the rain
father’s armpits
smell of brown fruit
you know things like
if I got up here
then I can get down
Voyager 1
baby birds cry
to expose the red insides
of their mouths
so that the parents
can deliver food
any sound they make
is just screaming
it attracts possums
raccoons
we sing, we scream
in both joy & anger
we certainly cry – in
everything we say
we are saying
Here I am
Come get me
like baby birds
preferring the company
of whatever’s out there
to nothing
The Earth Two
when a child picks up something
delicate she often crushes it
or pulls it off the tree
her hand
may as well be
a tube to the brain
the insides of worm
and aloe vera
upward
each first contact
a benevolent ownership
so nothing bad will happen
no, because I
will put it back
such confidence
the minnow, the grape-like
clutch of frog eggs
especially the flower
how do you explain
what is alive?
once we killed savages
I find myself saying
if you leave it, it
will get bigger
as in
there will be
more of it for you
“..finding a second Earth is not a matter of if, but when.”
-Thomas Zurbuchen, NASA’s Science Mission Directorate
Cain
the first person lives
who will be 1000
as once, the first person
to enter space
was alive
born of that starry substance
to be returned
as once
the first woman
who would
circumnavigate the world
and the first man
who would fly, both
heels
over head
and the first person
who would
sit atop
the animal
how odd
that must
have been
when suddenly the
other animals
failed
to recognize either
and were consumed
like the first person
who would kill
another. how tight
will he squeeze
her finger
how strong
could he be alive
somewhere
the first to rule, the first
with more
than he needs
and who needs more
as once
the first child was born
who would leave
its mother
where does one go
if not
to new people
new family
there would have been
no one
The World is a Joke but Still
short term
photographic
memory loss
your face, infrequent
by his hands
because your body
a poem finds
the bathroom
in the dark
a narrow victory
a game won
of its own making
then ignored, another
game created
before the last has ended
imagine
being made to carry
your winnings
would you ever win?
save it
for the end
the big stuffed air
the face-sized
balloon faces
the world is a joke
& still, he
wants to fuck like
it’s serious
the world is a joke
learning to tell itself
knock knock
himself
at the door
pounding, afraid
being just him
is the secret
a punch line, or
in this case
a name
there was something
great he
was going to say
something important
he thinks
long & hard
before he speaks
A Consequence of the Size of the World
we fell in love, and were separated
the problem therein –
it wasn’t hard enough
to see each other again