a closer look
where I
wanted to know
what a song about an angel could sound like
its brought me to
a mute edge
in a self dampened glimmer
its
sorry
gated now

-

wish we could cease
to exist as two
lying side by side
we two angels
heartily ripping our feathers out
individually, glassy
mirrored to a mend
of radiant tender murder
cry in devouring
both two in fear
now dispatching
and to see the downey fall
gently to the nethers
to butcher anew
And How Proud
of here
our soft precision

-

tonights
dove of hope
sharpens his beak
we watch him
brutally slaughter
a crowd
gathers
to turn on itself and the air
with a gentle snow
of down and gore
to deliver all of our promises

wish we could cease to exist as two
lying side by side we
two angels heartily pulling our feathers out
individually, glassy,
mirrored to a mend
of radiant tender murder
cry of devouring

both two of dispatching
and to see the downey fall
gently to the nethers
to butcher anew
And How Proud of here our soft precision

repeat
i love my circles
swallowing
waist deep and wanting
how empty

how
how can i
              i
but how i
              i
love my circles
an eye for an eye
at my low
to pretend a high

a cure for anxiety:
count every seed on a strawberry

jump out the window
repeat
i love my circles
swallowing
waist deep and wanting
how empty

 i
              i
but how i
              i
love my circles
an eye for an eye
my hovering low
and false to a a high
once a
a cure for anxiety (try)
count every seed
(here's my of the strawberry)
and jump out the window
i love
my circles swallowing
waist
deep and wanting
how empty how how can i
i
but how i
i
i love my circles
an eye for an eye at my low
and pretend theres a high

a cure to try
to count every seed on the strawberry
repeat
and

i love hearing myself giggle
imagine you hearing me laughing to myself
& its doubled

sad to be a daughter who hates

my eye socket
my skull & skull liquid

popcorn ceiling, this one’s for you
the way you swirl around the room
like a mirror of the carpet

*my poem on mushrooms

last night I dreamed all my hair came out

In disbelief I showed

and they told me it was so much worse

and wow ya it's all scarred 

but the light house works

and the victims dont drown tonight

but still 

I'm itching to eliminate, 

I'm starved of the float

but Don't have a cow

and (I'm safe)

and I don't know what my sin is can you save me from this place?

but

I took a trip and I saved myself!

everyone has a beloved and the beloved are married in secret
i could be breezier and damp with you, entwined by the calves
so how do i bring you here? by pulling flowers out of my mouth?
condiments for dipping in and out of conversation
women loving women reclaiming the land from the sea
thoughts like small ugly pellets protruding elastic
goldenrod toes, running
a hand through your bleached
purpling to bring the poem back to neutral
like glass birds we have nothing in common
with real life and the next day we have the same dream

Claire says some intimacy is casual
and you draw a heart around her face

zone out on camellia swirling
blonde drool and wrinkled smile

I don’t know shit
but I already knew that     I mean

everything that isn’t a cherry
is the wallpaper in a private reverie
sticking to the poems

I make the sounds of caring
nudge and nod my throat to respond
but I’m thinking it’s obvious
how I decorate myself with butterflies
because I love being a butterfly

come scribble a snake into my poem

describe singing
without the word red
spreading or ripping
out the roots of flowers

if you were to hear & let it show all over your face
whispered sharp staircase under the slant, a slanting doesn’t stop see saws
back and glancing you hear little snippets tune out shies. you shy to write
so slow and halting you go blank, left blank and strip down to the moment
you want to be held in a scribble but not just anyone’s. powder blue
wearing sweater in a powder blue room. spaced out like that surprised
what shows on your face when you see me

birds are such mechanical jerks
their chewing gum guts
melt on your tongue

remember myself
licking the butter off a knife
like a commercial for inner peace

to be doggedly displeased
I am grateful to the hole in that tree
it is just the right size for me
to bark the day away

I am not a lesson for the universe
stop taking notes
I am not a sad, useful lesson

my blubber
digested small fry
Supersize me guy
holding up a side of fat
honeycombed gristle
glistening yellow

the cows on the 5
either their shit or their blood
or their misery smells like
my period

you “think” I am a bigger version of you
you are right
your green eyes
effulgent chlorophyll
burn my mind into a clearing

g558

group 558
a volume of supplies
                    nearly equal
a volume of
                    total volume
a reluctant convert
the sea in the fifth month of 1959
did its work well

you and spinach
belong together in a sentence
you’re a health nut
in a low key kind of way
and have something in common
with absorbent leaves
softly rumpled in a plastic bag

you are learning about freaked-out moms
and how to make babies without cock
without sperm?
to get pregnant by peppercorns
papery pink globes and hard seeds
gently cupped

in here Ida Cox cracks peppery
and the velocity of the Gold Line
smudges into insect frequencies

and I could be riding it out
beyond the suburban forsythia
to the tip of the pine needle
that almost-wounds you

so I’m practicing obedience
to this silver-skinned plastic hunk
for tapping chatter into

while youth and its zillions of possibilities
dribble out of me, urinous
and I get so helpless and horny and bored and disobedient
I have to fiddle with myself or the window
right in the middle of the poem

big orange fireball
knifing its heat all over me
as if I were its cake

until finally I’m cooled off
no more gabbing on and on
but still enough to let you
come to me

barefoot on
a strip of sand between
two oceans                 

on the loud speaker:
We have the side curtains, so if
the sun is in Your Eyes
check Libby's pocket
we could try to turn on the moon
and only                                        dusk
Heaven knows what                     night
if I will meet my doom or my maker
tonight as I pick up the weight of it
in order to lean my own weight
down into it




if I can
if i could
if i would
if i should                 shall
     -lows in the deep and
     how is my hole here



on the loud speaker:
They have the side curtains, so if
the light is in My Eyes
how                            check Libby's pocket
lonely                         They could try to turn off the sun
and only
Heaven knows what
if she will meet her doom or her maker
tonight as she pick up the weight of it
in order to lean her own weight
down into it

Dream about a boy
friend who mansplained
bike handles to me

about talking to “Aunt
Lois” underwater &
her mouth gaping with
bubbles coming out

dream: a redheaded woman
& her redheaded dog

a raw oyster on her way to
her marriage with abalone
I cherish my warm lump and I
Do

Out on glass beach they
shard their mucous before the mosey
in the communal garden,
Abalone can ask her to remove
the pearl and shell and
Here she comes running, with her
hammer and froth
trapped in a vine of stumble
and fall

Place ourselves in the wet
cement to dry impermanence
Once, we seeped back into a
Real Utopia and had it all for
lunch.

But I neglected a cork to pop
Abalone is a muscle of frown
The kelp is disfigured on the coast
my rawness has begun to rot

The hull turns a dark hue
Glass is gone from the beach in
a token of good
Will myself to
Keep myself
Abalone was tough to chew