22.

I wanna write you a letter
and put a piece of my chest,
perhaps a collarbone or a fleck of sternum,
inside the envelope,
and it will make the paper all bloody
and I will be missing something (but that’s okay
because I would rather you have it anyway)
and you will open it up and think of me licking the stamp.
And the bone might break
or tear your shirt,
but you will clean it up in the sink
and you will mend the pieces with your sewing kit
and put varnish on it.
And while I am still bleeding from the chest,
you will bring it back to me.
You will place it back inside the cavity it left in me
and press my skin together,
and I will look even better than I did before.

The Natural Order of Things

Colonized and colonizing,
shout,
GLOBALIZATION!
ALELU!

This is the New World.

This is Manifest Destiny
of the
Soul.

Smooth that sticky
sex down
with Vaseline.

We were
never
children.

Shout,
REPENT!
CAPITALIZE!

Fall to your knees
and kiss the
mammoth dangling
purse strings.

Hear ye,
the dawning of the
Right Age!


Rubbing cleaner
hands
with oil,

lay a flowered
skirt
across her
pinkish
skin,

and call
her
“small.”

A Lesson in Art History

Kirchner had his
Palao beams
and his African statues,

and he called
them
“PRIMITIVE”

(decidedly non-
Western)

and We have
so much
to teach them,

don’t we?

Yes, Gauguin
had it
right.

I'm Not Pretty While I Love You

I love you so much
more
than I can love you.

I’m tumbling over myself
and tripping
on your hems,
ripping your jeans
off (and not in the good way)…

I know you love me
and some days I don’t
understand
why.
How could you
love this
gangling clump of vines
falling all over
you?

You’ve hollowed a cushioned room
for me
inside your chest,
but I’m too rough,

too square and obtuse
to fit comfortably
today
and I scratch you.

And I’m sorry,
I’m so sorry,
that my faulty heart
is spilling
thick with blood
all down my shirt,

and I’m not pretty while I love you.

I have fallen too
many times
down the stairs
because of my own
clumsy feet,

and I am surprised
you even try to pick me
up anymore.

I am just a faulty pool
of thick blood
at the bottom
of the stairs,

and I am sorry
I am all I have
to offer you.

For A Boy

if you let me
i could love you.
i could be the one
to tell you
when you have mustard on your face.

you say she’s the only girl
who knows when you’re hiding,
but i could be that girl
(if you wanted me to)

i could see you hiding
if i took the time to really see you at all
but i don’t have that time
or space
because it belongs to her

so i will step back
and let her
see you
because she was here first.

and i don’t worry,
because she loves you,
but i could love you
if you let me.

For A Girl

if you let me
i could love you

i could be the lips on your lips
the words in your hair
i could hold your hand

i could be the one sitting on your bed
watching you watch a movie
and running my finger
along
your
arm

you don’t see
what i see
and you have plans
and i know

and we are friends
(from a little further away)
and i like that
because i can be around you
and i like that

but if you wanted
if you let me
if you looked at me
(really saw me)
i could love you.

Upon Seeing Him Again

i can feel your deep eyes
and i (don’t) want them back
and i (so) want them back
where have you gone, my love?

i pushed you.

my bare shoulders raise
goosebumps
at your ghost touch
still…
there…

gone.

i can still feel your dark eyes,
my love,
and i (still) want your
hands
hands
hands
like i had them updownaroundme
softly

why did i push you?

i wanted you gone
(i want you gone)
i want you back! my love

i want you back.
so badly i break at the waist
and crack
where have i gone, my love…

in my best days,
i’m here and you’re there and that’s good.
and when i lie down
alone
in the dark
i can feel your deep eyes

and i (don’t) want them back
and i (so) want them back

Mother

extending branchy leafed fingers into soil
i am Mother
reaching downward elbow-deep in mud
roots like rivers underground
snaking into

twisting into creeks that writhe between tree trunks
i am Mother
curve-backed and curling with my eyes closed
i am bubbling beneath your feet
and in your hands

one arm wild above my head and flailing
i am Mother
snarling swirled windbreaths gust outward
wisping from strands of hair and my eyelashes
unapologetic, i am whole

and i am dancing
and within you
i remain
the connection
you have no words for

The Secret

behind everything i say
and under my tongue
is the taste of you

i spend my time writing your name
on the back of my hand
(and i’ve been aching for you
sleeping alone again)
and i’m sick

the blame is fading
and we’re left stinging
and without
(but not wanting
(or maybe just
not hoping))

and now my photo album looks
like someone cut me out of a picture
and cut you out of a picture
and pasted them together

but
i still manage
to miss
the way
my chin
rested
on your shoulder
like the puzzle
we made
one evening

and all the others
have gone
and i can’t smell
or hear
or feel them
anymore
but you
remain
inside my clothes
somehow

and i suspect
that when i touch him
i’ll be touching you

and i suspect
that when i love him
i’ll be missing you

Night

in the heat-blackness
youandi
we are the curve of your back
(and my fingers racing down it)

we are the scent of your lips on my neck
alone tonight(with all the World around us asleep)
inhaling the sweet water of this blanketed (past)midnight
we are your brown eyes

silent as wide oceans
we are moving like water over one another
tracing outlines,
smelling your skin like incense
i am a lazy creek winding down your body

we are the darkness
tonight
(when even after Night has fallen asleep)
we are still moving

we are our milky skin
and rapture that teardrop-falls down your flecked cheeks

how lucky we are!
to sing this tomorrowless tonight into one another’s lips
(and harmonious)
alone
alone
alone
we are (radiantly)
together.

Summer

it will be
the season
of nose rings
tattoos
and
kissing girls

it will be
green and leafy
with sun tan
leopard spots
on bikinis

it will be
ceiling-fan-spun
into swirled
hot yesterdays
and todays
melting
into tomorrows

it will be
asleep and dreaming
of winter
(but i’ll stroke its head
and tell it
i love it)

20.

yes, i did think
we
were just
you and i
now

but

my life is a tangle
with you in it
(and never that simple)

so i dream
(yes, i do
still)
of you and me
as we
of your lips in my ear
of my fingertips
tracing the line
of your jaw

yes, i did think
those last words i read
would be the
last words
i’d read

but

you are a windstorm
blowing through and into
and now my things
are all
slightly
out of place
(and my hair
is messy)

and those teeth of yours
that have kissed
(and are kissing)
so many
other
teeth
yes, i do
still want them
in my mouth

yes, i do
still have you
under my tongue
and no words left

yes, this sad slow love song
that i’ve written
with you
in mind
still wafts
in my breath

yes, i did think
that we
were you and i
that we
had disappeared

but

there you are
again
there you are
and where
am i

The Plea

your toothy lamp smile
is fading
from me

as i lay
my fingers tremble
for your curvesoft
legs
hips
back
neck

to twist up
in your
black cyclone hair
(the net that caught me)

and i hate that
word
(you know the one)
because it sits between us
like a mockingbird
and territorial

i hate that
word
that too-small joking word
i would rather use
my paintbrush
to stroke
a canvas-full of something
far greater
than
it

i would rather say
barefooted nymph
padding grassy tree-growings
blossoms in your hair
plucking the lyre
i made for you

i would rather say
ribbon sea creature
body twisting with the waves
hair to your fin-tip
casting ripples
over me

i would rather say
hidden under sheets
wound into you-me-us
with fjords and opera houses and ruins
through our windows
wire bed frame
mingled languages
towers of books
like we always
imagined.

not a word
never a word

but such
deeper
truths

such sweeter fruit
more solemn
and spanning oceans

and i am filling
jumbled
crossed leftright
wantingbegging
hopeless pacing why
why and why
is this less
than what you wanted
searchinggraspingtear-filled
heart swell


(like you,
i want
too much)


and
i
breathe
eyes drift down
to fade into
the imprint you’ve left
of your
black cyclone hair
and
spider web fingers
and
your toothy lamp smile

and
all that’s left
is:

i adore you.
please come back.
i can give you the whole sky.

Cigarette

the way you held
that cigarette
(today)

like the rose bud
that is unfurling
petal
by
petal

like the pen
that bleeds
you
(into paper)

like a piece of me
(or how i hope
your lips
would hold
mine)

smoke
growing like vines
from your crooked teeth
and sinking
into my clothes

i want to bury myself in the sand of you

i want to grow my hair long
and braid it into yours

Gifts

maybe all i
have
to give
is
a tangle of
black
and
white
words on
this page

perhaps
i should cook
(like he said)
or do laundry

but
in the deepdown
mud of me

i want to give
what i
need

and how
would i hand
a wind kiss on my shoulder
the green of a leaf
to you?

the blue in my fingernails
or a laugh on her red lips?
i could make bracelets
or spread
me
around
(if that’s
enough)

i suppose
i should
ask
what you need
first.

Love

carefully
…and slow

i would say
love

those poisonous four letters
that instantly
erode
green-chute couples

i would say
love
is it too soon?

no.

no, in love
or
love
and loving
her
is all at once
in me

and i can’t count
all the ways i love
in the stars
(even if i could count so high)

so this
is
one

one star
one heartbeat
one four letters
(one sadsweet too-small poem)

one one one
love

and dare i say
i love her

she would
run

but
i feel a love
that swims into the channels
woven in my chest
i feel a love
growing in my hair
i feel a love
that ribbon-ties our hands
and breathes into that
fuzzy place
behind her neck

i will not be her
construction paper valentine
nor will she be mine
and I Love You
between stiff greeting folds
will never do

but there is a secret
hidden in her mouth
and when i see her speak
i feel it

Out

take me out
in the cold
alone Night

bright star speckles
silent
and Time slowed
to still water

sit beside me
but don’t touch

let the black
bleed between us
blindfold our eyes
leak into our lungs

take me out
to smoke and diminish
into frosted grass blades

hold the scent of me
in your mouth
and blow it through your teeth

look at my
eyelashes
(and don’t

speak)



quiet drift
along the
breezeless air

fold yourself
inside
and wait
for nothing to happen

take me out
in the cold
alone Night

and don’t ask me
why

19.

but I um…
what
beauty oh, okay
sure beauty sure
you just um…
what
you just know it
(don’t you)
won’t get
better for me will it
will it always it will
be just um…
what
a struggle for me
won’t it
every day in day out
lovely you said lovely
yeah okay sure

18.

Written here on skin
Does that make it more
Well what does it make it

Truer here on skin
Am I better believed
If I use a needle instead

You know, you know this
Is all just fill-in-the-blank
For your own bullshit

17.

but away
away a
way
take me

make it grayer
silent more silent

now go
and bring me
back
when you’ve done

but now wait
never no never

you will stay
you will
pull
my hand through this

leave me
not alone
but now (take) hold (of) me
away

I do not know Maybes

I do not know Maybes.
Ifs, Perhapses, Contingents, and the like.
They are not from my neighborhood.

Now Certainties, I know.
We are comfortable together in our
solid, fact-bricked home.
We built it with our own hands.

Perfection is our neighbor,
and we try to keep our grass as nice as hers
(but our lawn mower isn’t as exact).

We have libraries of isms
and we organize them alphabetically.
On Tuesdays, we play bridge with Proof.
He always has interesting things to teach us.

We are not sure where the Maybes come from,
or why they show up sometimes
but we do not associate with them.

We don’t have time for their flower dances,
for the Conjectures and Irresolutions that visit them
and drink their herbal tea.
We have work to do.

The South

quiet bright 4:00 pm
curling heat waves inside my window screen
electric fan, stand still

this feels like a sweating glass of sweet tea on a creaky front porch swing

this feels like The South
The South
The South

growing up from watermelon vines
John Deer and scrawny dogs
falling off the back of a four-wheeler

this feels like a wooden ladder covered in lady bugs

jasmine spilling over the fence
and honeysuckle we eat gingerly like tiny beads
hot grass between my toes

this feels like the saddle leather smell in a barn closet

this feels like The South
The South
The South

Suprematist Composition: Gray on Darker Gray

While the serpent rolls her circles, circles, circles,
Down from between blood-red thighs of darker skin,
Drip coils writhing older than your folded hands.
Jezebel strokes her gnashing wolf pups foaming at the tongue;
She feeds them pearls for swine and slices of her ankle.
And open here your parasol, my dearest lady Juliet,
Eroding lacey rills of petticoat truffles venom leaking from the laces;
Throw it into the green dark wild with poison ivy,
Glistening red-leg vines extend a broad and curling leaf
In coiling, coiling Mother Earth, her knees from wine and muck.
We sing Her praises,
Holy Magdalene.

But This Time With Claws

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO