Tagged: the Heart

What if Bugs Bunny Were Bugs Instead of a Bunny

I think of replacing myself
with bugs
fumbling over themselves
heaving
grabbing skin, grain
absorbed
or otherwise freed
like other, smaller
bugs. you would like it if
I had been
now that I am
but I wasn’t
a spider hurls its heart
into its legs
blood hits the wall
and goes up it
like a roach. there is no
naturally occurring
instance of me
in the leaf litter
in the rot
I descend carrots
I say what is up. I
tape your heart

Lime Rinse

maybe I never
in the first place

jelly down a sea of me
me me me

me as I changed
into me again

over and over
over? it continues

through sleep
I am pulled down

tighter, so that you
can be stitched up

I am upside down to you
therefore, to me

Its Parallel Existence

Formerly of love appears
on grainy 90s television
She takes down my shorts by the pool
Her mouth is full of ice, if I remember, or
I tried to run

I remember my first kiss. I wiped it away
I remember I peed on a girl’s foot in line
to the diving board. If I saw her today, I’d maintain

it was dripping water, formerly
of ice, that it was unseasonably cold that day
not too cold

               Snow untwisted from the curtain
Duck, dinosaur, contagion fused together
We had to get out of the pool
There is no end, it seems, to these
lines that never touch

Infinite Divisibility

maybe we adopt
a highway first
pluck the hairs off its back
spray poison
on the cans as folks
drive dead
down the middle of us
ignoring signs
of what to ask, when
& how come
our trash bags, our rival
lemonade stands
freshly squeezed
piles of request
husks of yellow wanting
shimmering in the sun
ants lubricated. is there
a little bit of juice left
in everything?
like a theory of things
cut in half forever. like
half of us is still here
in each of us, even
if we can’t see it
even if we hate each other
seeing us like this
the objects, the objective
literally broken
a man pulls over
& asks for a glass of milk
we both feel bad
for not having any
we give directions, but
neither of us has been
past this point
the grass unkempt
& green on either side
hiding the mile markers
at the number of times
I have had sex with you
& you have had sex
with me

People Near a Fire

A woman sings without breathing mask
in all this smoke
She covers Wagon Wheel
and smoke covers the mountains

A crowd of people gather. They dance
as though someone
has just completed
a successful surgery, or a birth

and small green shrubs have popped up
from the fires before. 2003, 2010. They seem
to run back and forth like children
between challenges

What challenges me? A guy lights his cigarette
and his girlfriend gets on him
He says I need it to be myself
while we’re here!

I’m standing alone for the same reason
You’re off in the market, carrying
my bucket of water. It seems impossible
that I should be able to cry now

smoke like a grey wool pillow, pink
bandana around my face, but I am. Something
about the altitude, my solitude, a mixture
of short air and of people, how

I love you, how I look like a bandit
how I love to see your ideas
nesting in burnt trees like eagles
I see how people continue to dance

long after the woman has lost her voice
how when you look closely, you can see
where new life
has been pulled out of old life

Why Some People Make It

I feel the weight
of a very large decision
left open to me, like
a container in the snow

I lie to a park ranger about
the temperature back home. 110 degrees!
You lie to an old lady about
how long we watched a flip-flop
flip in the glacial rapids, caught
in a whirlpool, not emerging. At least an hour!

Persistence, I point out. Arbitrarily
pointed persistence

Here, you say, passing me a stone
feel how smooth

Sinbad on Astral Projection

You say you’d like to stop at the Industrial Market
on the way back from Houston

You’ve passed it so many times. You’ve become
like a metronome, I think you say

I am very much inside the car. Sinbad is on the
radio talking about the dozen or so times

he has left his body using astral projection
Something jumped on his back in

another plane, so he decided to stop. He did go
to Michigan. And thought he had

super powers for a bit. I speed
around a few cars. I do that little look to see

who’s driving in them. I notice – maybe
for the first time – how similar this look

is to the one I use almost always. It is non-
committal. Shark-cagey. Like

I know there is a cord that will pull me out
We pass what looks like a bridge store

An old VW sits on top of a short, disconnected
section of scaffolding. I jokingly say

we should stop on the way back, but
you don’t hear me. I watch you think of

vehicles which will take you to your thoughts
which are far away. Is Sinbad there?

He said he quit because he thought
he might bring something back