Tagged: the Humans
Yell Fuck at Canoe Rental
geese scream lyrics
over a banjo being played
inside a trailer full
of life-jackets
where the fuck
have I landed?
the sound comes out
in ligaments
the geese are so angry
they lose themselves
white fluff in disarray
off them, honking
wildly. I wonder if
they could see the sound
if they would
be so angry
on top of sound is placed
their own, a bigger sound
their voices
press shut their eyes
when one feather goes, so
does its opposite, keeping
the enraged birds
in balance
there are many feathers
on the ground now – I imagine
them cleaned and colored
for crafts
children attaching them
to their shoes, banjo music
lifting them into the sky
where light is adjacent colors
the music plays
on speaker – it will never stop
but eventually
the geese do
they scream their necks
into collapse, together
they leave to accept handouts
in the parking lot, or
whatever it is they’re used to doing
the light squirms in
the heat. the light
is the same light as always
we have had it this whole time
it has been everything since
and will be
everything else
it extends beyond the prism
of our atmosphere. it comes from
a fucking star – how can there
be hate?
it is only the brain making
of light what it will
the brain which cannot understand
the feeling of light on its skin
Salamander
light, the cricket that leaves the cave
our minds which consume & think
they have been. our minds
which have never felt
our minds of the palest skin
they are stuck inside
the cave of skull
blind as a salamander – seeing nothing
aware of only what they see
Pressing Medicine
what’s the opposite
of a steel trap? a sieve
a mind which filters
– strains to filter –
wrings, dilutes
decocts
I do one, maybe
two things wrong &
I can’t function – my
stomach is the rag
my ribs are the glass jar
inside awash with medicine
how much does it take
to twist like that?
what do you do with
the rest?
black in the dark, black
red in the light
it is left
in the margin, discarded
white space that
oblierates, white winter
that proliferates
how can it be so many
when it is also each one?
Why Don’t You Say My Name as Much Anymore
my parents would say Terri – I mean your mother
or David – I mean your father
as if I wouldn’t know who they meant. Or like
they were each hiding some Terris or Davids
we weren’t supposed to know about. I never really
suspected, but I would listen sometimes
put a cup to the wall in my closet
that connected to their bathroom
I’d listen to my mother and father spending time
with Terri and David – coordinating spits
in their sinks – starting the shower for the other –
flushing the toilet. sometimes I’d hear the long lighter
snapping its fingers at the candle. sometimes
I’d hear the tub water. they’d say their lover’s name
– serious business in the house that holds
their children. they must have been in on it together
sometimes I’d fall asleep in the closet listening
my nicer pants and things hanging close to my face
curled up against bags with my name
adorned on them, a clear cup along the carpet
Candida
your heart will hurry
to the places it’s been
a note tied to its leg
what if the quiet place
in your mind vanishes, or
worse, is given to someone else?
for now though, this is us
this is a city
that tells us about spirits
that calls when the grass
is too long, stops calling
when the grass dies off from sun
where the ice cream truck
does circles, donuts
do your ears hang low
til the occasional BOOIIIOIIINNGG
or HEELLOOO?! we lay
in its sound, having just licked
each other, perpetual lawn mower
I guess the gears of the world
dairy for the diligent whackers
and every house, broken in
on champagne, with its windows
smiling through a baby
under expansion, like most things
built to withstand fire
bison, winter, crop
shortages and floods
termites, outages of power
the way things are
underneath, before eventually
there is a die off
a long low moan without
complaint, the REMEMBER ME
of life that has taken hold
bugs in two dimensions
a flattened Earth holding
more of us, all at once
if she is trying to say something
we wouldn’t know
she is collapsed upon. so
we move forward
in the old way
in which
you’re allowed to replace yourself
Orion
If you lay in snow
and I lay in snow
even with the same moon
as headboard, the electricity
wouldn’t travel, the water
too densely packed
I feel that way today
both in our underwear
separately, in the city
you walking from Planned Parenthood
to yoga, me having worn
the wrong clothes to work
now bathing in the spillway
we have no gas for water
we named a cat Fuel
each man presents
his best self, the
6-month awoken blood stem
you unlock something in me, he says
it was not there before
you make me want to be a better man
a star falls on the roof
of the Whole Foods
by definition not that great
of a star, but close
men burn their tongues
try to recall
what they were doing before
just to have you say it
have you pull it out
the long steel draw
approachable temperature
a star just being friendly
holding it
lighting their eyes
but stars are forever away
maybe they have already died
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
Maya
human animal awareness
peaks
at the edge
of physical boundary
such as
out of the woods
& into a clearing
or reverse of that
into greens
that when mixed together
appear black
some have thorns
so they all might
some are oily
& poisonous, so
they all might be
we appear on a hill
at the edge
of a cliff, below which
a river
beyond which
the stone shaved
clean
by wind
membranes of
cities, the towers
neck tied
& black of dress
the first doorway
opened
& the first pen
an absence
a finger slick with berries
the first wall a raft
possibly
a door
or
the green wall
of medicine &
fibrous material
fruits
& soft bedding
