Those things we did
in submarines
In chilly water in my dreams.
I've considered how coriander
rough and rich sprouts
into cilantro and have determined
that all things sharp and roasted were once red and wrinkled
and inevitably turn
again soft
again hairless.
And so the frigate like carved
soapstone rests
on the ocean's low waist
and is movement and steam within,
tumbling.
In our submarine
we are the world's belt buckle. We'll crumble
down, tickling the navel.
Wailing and swallowing
I hope we plant ourself into the earth's red wrinkle, roast in steam
until
giving up our cracked shell
we are once more soft,
once more fearless.
April 29th
for Lauren
you shine noctilucent
a moon-reflectant elephant stampeding
sideways
gadarene and cancrine.
every foot is wide and solid
you are the ivory model
of legerity.
you shine noctilucent
a moon-reflectant elephant stampeding
sideways
gadarene and cancrine.
every foot is wide and solid
you are the ivory model
of legerity.
April 28th
Conversation
my back is burnt nicely,
slow-roasted like a pig not coffee
stripstrapped down these other men
don't get
the voice right
it was another weekend with
strongarmed
it was another sleep with
rough sheets
please stop wearing those pinstripes
I just can't take it
it's costing too much to
outfit all these men
yea but that's the old way of moving
my back is burnt nicely,
slow-roasted like a pig not coffee
you're always spilling, why are you
always spilling on me
always spilling on me
stripstrapped down these other men
don't get
the voice right
don't listen to me, why don't you
listen to me
listen to me
it was another weekend with
strongarmed
(hanging on)
it was another sleep with
rough sheets
(shakes from me)
please stop wearing those pinstripes
I just can't take it
(takes from me)
it's costing too much to
outfit all these men
(from me)
not me
not me
yea but that's the old way of moving
April 27th
When a woman is born
a wind resides within her.
Ovulation: the eggpouch pops.
My insides are
pockmarked.
Ladies are we bursting
or howling,
dancing or singing?
a wind resides within her.
Ovulation: the eggpouch pops.
My insides are
pockmarked.
Ladies are we bursting
or howling,
dancing or singing?
April 26th
for Shad
1.
his fish name gross and greasy
but resists it, upriver
new name gillgasps- then
floats on
whole bubble moment
before
busting up, resisting
fish name
2.
fish scales
cliffs but don't look down
remembers when water was
over the mountains
canyons held
deeper things
1.
his fish name gross and greasy
but resists it, upriver
new name gillgasps- then
floats on
whole bubble moment
before
busting up, resisting
fish name
2.
fish scales
cliffs but don't look down
remembers when water was
over the mountains
canyons held
deeper things
April 25th
for Ryan
The way you shake your swolon bekly
wivels its hips in the back
of my mond
lung black hiairi
and a black
birwad
your speev sank down
thick and poros was
and downed in me
the cick scxoco wet foeest-
fwive ov them.
The way you shake your swolon bekly
wivels its hips in the back
of my mond
lung black hiairi
and a black
birwad
your speev sank down
thick and poros was
and downed in me
the cick scxoco wet foeest-
fwive ov them.
April 24th
The Very Old
Man, stiff round globe head
hairspill right down from Arctic circle
that spins in wind, fears combs
Woman made of bear leather
fingers are guitar wires
and Gabe maybe Autistic
little glasses and pinchy
face turned slantways
approached. What are you playing? Gabe, oh Gabe
come back from trash bag romance
What song is that you're playing? oh your squinchy cheeks
come back
upthrusts of basalt from old time
peered at fluffed up hoot owl Gabe maybe Austistic maybe
the earthquake that made them
Man, stiff round globe head
hairspill right down from Arctic circle
that spins in wind, fears combs
Woman made of bear leather
fingers are guitar wires
and Gabe maybe Autistic
little glasses and pinchy
face turned slantways
approached. What are you playing? Gabe, oh Gabe
come back from trash bag romance
What song is that you're playing? oh your squinchy cheeks
come back
upthrusts of basalt from old time
peered at fluffed up hoot owl Gabe maybe Austistic maybe
the earthquake that made them
April 23rd
for Chase
Go on and squeal your baby
saxophone, swing like you be flat.
Cleaning and clicking
screaming and kicking,
wedge wood in, a sting
and then salt.
Go and split your tongue
in two, that's where
the music pours out. Music thin
pours out like fine sand
fine sound and sticks in
damp gaps between fingers
and the sliver of your gearwork.
I have a day of yours, baby
saxophone fucker, when I
drew cows and took off my shirt, let
your saxophone wail and your
northern heart fail but
I was there
a smudge in the groove.
Above the machinery and up
to the throat, a film unrolls
from your two tongues.
I'm glad to know you
couldn't tear me out.
Go on and squeal your baby
saxophone, swing like you be flat.
Cleaning and clicking
screaming and kicking,
wedge wood in, a sting
and then salt.
Go and split your tongue
in two, that's where
the music pours out. Music thin
pours out like fine sand
fine sound and sticks in
damp gaps between fingers
and the sliver of your gearwork.
I have a day of yours, baby
saxophone fucker, when I
drew cows and took off my shirt, let
your saxophone wail and your
northern heart fail but
I was there
a smudge in the groove.
Above the machinery and up
to the throat, a film unrolls
from your two tongues.
I'm glad to know you
couldn't tear me out.
April 22nd
I worry on him like a sweet that
hasn't melted away
where
the spit's gone grim and grimy
what is he but the sugar disc
under my tongue
hides in a sweet
spit pouch the secret
hollow under my tongue
escapists keep keys
in cracked teeth, sore
callused cheek pockets
caves in the gums and
hollows under tongues
thin disc still
tastes sweet tangy talks
to me unlocks
the hollow under
hasn't melted away
where
the spit's gone grim and grimy
what is he but the sugar disc
under my tongue
hides in a sweet
spit pouch the secret
hollow under my tongue
escapists keep keys
in cracked teeth, sore
callused cheek pockets
caves in the gums and
hollows under tongues
thin disc still
tastes sweet tangy talks
to me unlocks
the hollow under
April 21st
Waiting for Teresa
black fly spins into
my open face, anemic and wasted face,
twitching up at
hot and gloomy blue
wiggling ducks and the
man made of leather
bags, reedy
rough trees, these days
until tripping happy trims
the road curve,
eyes eyes knees
and ankles
duck chorus gleeing
she brings me string cheese
warm from childhood's hand
black fly spins into
my open face, anemic and wasted face,
twitching up at
hot and gloomy blue
wiggling ducks and the
man made of leather
bags, reedy
rough trees, these days
until tripping happy trims
the road curve,
eyes eyes knees
and ankles
duck chorus gleeing
she brings me string cheese
warm from childhood's hand
April 20th
three kinds of white
china tingles
the hum of velvet
on thrifted glass asks
observe the following:
milky
his eyes are sliced oranges in syrup
winking and spilling
pasty burns paper quick
citrus on pigskin
crackles
white on white:
pasty
curdles
china tingles
the hum of velvet
on thrifted glass asks
observe the following:
milky
his eyes are sliced oranges in syrup
winking and spilling
pasty burns paper quick
citrus on pigskin
crackles
white on white:
pasty
curdles
April 19th
yellow and mosquitoes
in the squealing hooping
we're leaving the crushed glass beaches
I am gummy and sick sour
like flour left in water for too long
so that's the deep part of the map
the blank coasts
well I am glad for them, and the dogs and tigers
and the mules that don't mate
I am glad there is a sickness in me now
so the salt clocks me and the
chain rubbing the deck
the tar tackling and the shrouds
ohmerica you haven't changed since I
went down to mexico to find
china skeletons with submachine guns
and came back with a fear of chiclets
in the squealing hooping
we're leaving the crushed glass beaches
I am gummy and sick sour
like flour left in water for too long
so that's the deep part of the map
the blank coasts
well I am glad for them, and the dogs and tigers
and the mules that don't mate
I am glad there is a sickness in me now
so the salt clocks me and the
chain rubbing the deck
the tar tackling and the shrouds
ohmerica you haven't changed since I
went down to mexico to find
china skeletons with submachine guns
and came back with a fear of chiclets
April 18th
when I wake up and call for my
stuffed rabbit I've had from the cradle
because iron maidens washed up
on the shore, clicking things
crawling, beetle-nights but mostly
sore voiced, my mother
and my sister and my grandmother's
house,
let me dig myself into his neck
and hear his breath, sneezing eye-rubbing glory
that breathes too loud
when I'm trying to sleep.
stuffed rabbit I've had from the cradle
because iron maidens washed up
on the shore, clicking things
crawling, beetle-nights but mostly
sore voiced, my mother
and my sister and my grandmother's
house,
let me dig myself into his neck
and hear his breath, sneezing eye-rubbing glory
that breathes too loud
when I'm trying to sleep.
April 17th
That War
My name is Rizzo
dance, old bones, dance
junglesteam became my breath
the evening blasts into the night
dance, old bones, dance.
My name is Rizzo
dance, old bones, dance
junglesteam became my breath
the evening blasts into the night
dance, old bones, dance.
April 16th
How To Get a Man,
from My High School Experience
Plan A:
"Come home, and live in a box with me!"
During the ensuing silence,
take the opportunity to steal their pants.
Plan B:
Kick them.
"I make a terrible first impression!"
Plan C:
"I'm sewing a doll that will look just like you.
Could you say something into this tape recorder?"
Plan D:
Smell like garlic, always.
from My High School Experience
Plan A:
"Come home, and live in a box with me!"
During the ensuing silence,
take the opportunity to steal their pants.
Plan B:
Kick them.
"I make a terrible first impression!"
Plan C:
"I'm sewing a doll that will look just like you.
Could you say something into this tape recorder?"
Plan D:
Smell like garlic, always.
April 15th
who doesn't try
to run away except those
on small islands where
water is the only running
and huntsman spiders tickling
the backs of doors discourage packing
the old fruit from the basement
there was that boy who didn't get an xbox
and shoveled his fat face into nature,
and the boy who was too young
to apply for survival school
and trekked Ohio
as a letter of recommendation
if they left together: boy one, xboxless
and boy two, clever enough
to be full of tender dinner
he didn't pack soap, which is all right because
fat is young tallow,
teaching himself how to skin
and gut the gutless
when I was that young and alive and scared
I had a list
1. water and
2. a watermelon
but I think I'd spit the seeds at deer
and wear the rind as a hat
to run away except those
on small islands where
water is the only running
and huntsman spiders tickling
the backs of doors discourage packing
the old fruit from the basement
there was that boy who didn't get an xbox
and shoveled his fat face into nature,
and the boy who was too young
to apply for survival school
and trekked Ohio
as a letter of recommendation
if they left together: boy one, xboxless
and boy two, clever enough
to be full of tender dinner
he didn't pack soap, which is all right because
fat is young tallow,
teaching himself how to skin
and gut the gutless
when I was that young and alive and scared
I had a list
1. water and
2. a watermelon
but I think I'd spit the seeds at deer
and wear the rind as a hat
April 14th
come on duck-billed baby
your lips are hanging over your
teacup mouth
the water's gone thick with spring
it's time to
ruffle yourself
those other men, their heads
snaked under their wings, the green
glow of their slick necks
they don't have nothing
on your puffed out cream show
your chest like a burst eclair
curve around the lake edge and float
a ripple away from her
blink your little black eyes
sure she's fresh feathered
and brown backed
snootmouthed and weedy
she's out of your league,
duck-billed brother but
wiggle your rumpdance
you've got some mighty fine moves
your lips are hanging over your
teacup mouth
the water's gone thick with spring
it's time to
ruffle yourself
those other men, their heads
snaked under their wings, the green
glow of their slick necks
they don't have nothing
on your puffed out cream show
your chest like a burst eclair
curve around the lake edge and float
a ripple away from her
blink your little black eyes
sure she's fresh feathered
and brown backed
snootmouthed and weedy
she's out of your league,
duck-billed brother but
wiggle your rumpdance
you've got some mighty fine moves
April 13th
Observations of Yogurt
1. Into the Cellar (slide down my rainbow, in through my cellar door)
Keep windows between curtains
and keep all life in cool wooden rooms
Slide over the window ledge, crawling, pushing
When you are so deep with
dirt peace and so heavy
and dripping
you'll feel it in your bowels
even the stagnant motions will stop,
no soft grindings
but all the little beasts
resting their heads, ostrich-like
It is the sun drooling in
from the slit in the curtains. It is
the packed floor and the barrels
the wood that softens and creaks. It is
beams arching underground
the sleepy and ponderous movement of storage.
When you are fully spongy and dumb
I'll spill through the curtains, clapping my own hands.
Pry the lids off barrels,
raise our spoons.
2. Supplement (we'll be jolly friends, forever more, more, more)
The yogurt I eat is alive
and as I eat it
I become more alive
3. Slapping My Palms Together (bring your dollies three)
Lemon does not do this,
nor lamb.
Lamb has never been
alive inside me. Pre-chewed and
stiff
digested by others’ juices.
I’ve been hollered up at from the bottom
of rain barrels, the catch-all
I’ve caught my skin on nails holding
down the lids
holding lids closed to the raining, breathing sky
Have you found it?
I found it
indigestible
4. Advanced Masturbation Techniques (climb up my apple tree)
I am touching myself,
and I am spooning yogurt into myself.
Life enters and life
barrels out.
See see oh playmate.
Come out and play with me,
and bring your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.
Slide down my rainbow,
in through my cellar door, and
we'll be jolly friends,
forever more, more, more
1,2,3,4.
Come out and play with me,
and bring your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.
Slide down my rainbow,
in through my cellar door, and
we'll be jolly friends,
forever more, more, more
1,2,3,4.
1. Into the Cellar (slide down my rainbow, in through my cellar door)
Keep windows between curtains
and keep all life in cool wooden rooms
Slide over the window ledge, crawling, pushing
When you are so deep with
dirt peace and so heavy
and dripping
you'll feel it in your bowels
even the stagnant motions will stop,
no soft grindings
but all the little beasts
resting their heads, ostrich-like
It is the sun drooling in
from the slit in the curtains. It is
the packed floor and the barrels
the wood that softens and creaks. It is
beams arching underground
the sleepy and ponderous movement of storage.
When you are fully spongy and dumb
I'll spill through the curtains, clapping my own hands.
Pry the lids off barrels,
raise our spoons.
2. Supplement (we'll be jolly friends, forever more, more, more)
The yogurt I eat is alive
and as I eat it
I become more alive
3. Slapping My Palms Together (bring your dollies three)
Lemon does not do this,
nor lamb.
Lamb has never been
alive inside me. Pre-chewed and
stiff
digested by others’ juices.
I’ve been hollered up at from the bottom
of rain barrels, the catch-all
I’ve caught my skin on nails holding
down the lids
holding lids closed to the raining, breathing sky
Have you found it?
I found it
indigestible
4. Advanced Masturbation Techniques (climb up my apple tree)
I am touching myself,
and I am spooning yogurt into myself.
Life enters and life
barrels out.
April 12th
Can I paint the buffeting
wind on my neck, the bus on the freeway
hurtling
I would use green oil paint
- I can't eat it or it will kill me
thinned with turpentine
- I can't eat it or it will kill me
How could I possibly paint
the spring speeding green and flurrious hair
knowing I was coming home
to write this
wind on my neck, the bus on the freeway
hurtling
I would use green oil paint
- I can't eat it or it will kill me
thinned with turpentine
- I can't eat it or it will kill me
How could I possibly paint
the spring speeding green and flurrious hair
knowing I was coming home
to write this
April 11th
Writing About Dr. Mallard, I Become Confused and Think About Professor Williamson
tea and argyle
stands by the window, hands in the cup of his back.
when he was at Oxford
his hair was already
flopping delicately
on his pink and crinkling forehead
when it rained he'd
stalk through the green edges of
the evening, the end of his coat tails
brimming
it's summer now.
cow and dirt.
asphalt sweat.
when he ghosts to his desk
I'm tapping back down the hallway; I don't want to see him
performing autopsies
on my poetry
tea and argyle
stands by the window, hands in the cup of his back.
when he was at Oxford
his hair was already
flopping delicately
on his pink and crinkling forehead
when it rained he'd
stalk through the green edges of
the evening, the end of his coat tails
brimming
it's summer now.
cow and dirt.
asphalt sweat.
when he ghosts to his desk
I'm tapping back down the hallway; I don't want to see him
performing autopsies
on my poetry
April 10th
Vestibulectomy
it'll be like trimming
fat from a chicken breast
a little cut of bumpy skin
and lemon: a curved rind landing on the floor
maybe I'll grate it over salads
a cure for impotent men
it'll be like trimming
fat from a chicken breast
a little cut of bumpy skin
and lemon: a curved rind landing on the floor
maybe I'll grate it over salads
a cure for impotent men
April 9th
when my father dies
I hope he gets himself onto a steam train
the jiggering track, rickety ticking
buffalo blood windows
that old steel smell, paste and
the sky hurtling by, clouds like pie
crust
I hope he crumbles up into them
I hope maybe
he'll feel like an American
or find a country he likes better
I can see the pitchy tracks pushing into the ocean
and by sundown
he'll be eating tea and kidneys
on Bloomsday
I hope he gets himself onto a steam train
the jiggering track, rickety ticking
buffalo blood windows
that old steel smell, paste and
the sky hurtling by, clouds like pie
crust
I hope he crumbles up into them
I hope maybe
he'll feel like an American
or find a country he likes better
I can see the pitchy tracks pushing into the ocean
and by sundown
he'll be eating tea and kidneys
on Bloomsday
April 8th
he sleeps in the scrapings and splinters
from his skeleton boat
in the basement
his boat in the basement
the weak crashing of the old tv
his nose brushes bowed wood as his arms
stretch at the huge curved spine
he'll have to move the house
before he moves the boat
like him, it won't go up the stairs
notching thin beams
and sitting in the ribs
he pulses
thinking of ocean salt, the quick marine air
his high tight hair
and the trench of his face
dog tags tapping planks
knock back the bourbon
it's gone sour with all that sawdust
you're the reason it's called a rib cage
from his skeleton boat
in the basement
his boat in the basement
the weak crashing of the old tv
his nose brushes bowed wood as his arms
stretch at the huge curved spine
he'll have to move the house
before he moves the boat
like him, it won't go up the stairs
notching thin beams
and sitting in the ribs
he pulses
thinking of ocean salt, the quick marine air
his high tight hair
and the trench of his face
dog tags tapping planks
knock back the bourbon
it's gone sour with all that sawdust
you're the reason it's called a rib cage
April 7th
We twist weekly
We tryst weakly when
I am sore, which is often, weekly. Tap the lamp
once for gloom
twice for it to glow again.
Roll, hold. Laugh often.
Adjust, and I just. can't.
adjust.
Leg over, lower shoulder. Adjust. Adjust.
And the low light shines
from behind his curved back,
and the hair under his arm is a shock of brown lightning.
We tryst weakly when
I am sore, which is often, weekly. Tap the lamp
once for gloom
twice for it to glow again.
Roll, hold. Laugh often.
Adjust, and I just. can't.
adjust.
Leg over, lower shoulder. Adjust. Adjust.
And the low light shines
from behind his curved back,
and the hair under his arm is a shock of brown lightning.
April 6th
This modern has
dog eyes, not the wolf's eyes that are
ridged in teeth but
rather, the wet wide domes
bristle lids, black ringed
sad little curves that
wait and
wailing
and wait.
I wonder,
can he taste the prickling woodsmoke,
creeping, creeping?
dog eyes, not the wolf's eyes that are
ridged in teeth but
rather, the wet wide domes
bristle lids, black ringed
sad little curves that
wait and
wailing
and wait.
I wonder,
can he taste the prickling woodsmoke,
creeping, creeping?
April 5th
for Teresa
Eyes
Eyes
Knees and ankles
Let your door
become my door
and I'll build you a cellar
Sun that drools in through
the wood framed door
on the dirt floor
finds you finishing all your stories
I'll gather you armfuls of corn and apples
Let's sit on the roof
and I'll keep the trees
from looking up your skirt.
Eyes
Eyes
Knees and ankles
Let your door
become my door
and I'll build you a cellar
Sun that drools in through
the wood framed door
on the dirt floor
finds you finishing all your stories
I'll gather you armfuls of corn and apples
Let's sit on the roof
and I'll keep the trees
from looking up your skirt.
April 4th
for Chino
Red smell. Like peppercorns
uncracked.
You are the shadow in the room
that curls against the wall and
leaks beautiful sounds.
I'm looking at you through a
cardboard tube
in a downpour.
But mostly
(I'm afraid to say it.)
you know me
Red smell. Like peppercorns
uncracked.
You are the shadow in the room
that curls against the wall and
leaks beautiful sounds.
I'm looking at you through a
cardboard tube
in a downpour.
But mostly
(I'm afraid to say it.)
you know me
April 3rd
for Kristen
Sewn from spun sugar
Your voice the gentle give of warm taffy
Yards and yards
of pink silk
Woven on cypress branches:
not the sheer drops of Italian hedges,
but the fire resisting macrocarpa,
the ocean cypress,
knit around itself.
Cypress, when burnt,
holds its seeds in tight.
Burns hot, and sparks.
I can taste it in the air around you,
your rough and caramelized center,
the clear sea water running through-
or is it kerosene?
Sewn from spun sugar
Your voice the gentle give of warm taffy
Yards and yards
of pink silk
Woven on cypress branches:
not the sheer drops of Italian hedges,
but the fire resisting macrocarpa,
the ocean cypress,
knit around itself.
Cypress, when burnt,
holds its seeds in tight.
Burns hot, and sparks.
I can taste it in the air around you,
your rough and caramelized center,
the clear sea water running through-
or is it kerosene?
April 2nd
for Dana
I always thought you were
much older than me. Always thinking,
I know you,
I've known things like you.
Thinking: My finger is on the pulse of your story.
But gardens and big music,
the hard floors
the human smell
confetti and eggshells
Your story has long veins.
I always thought you were
much older than me. Always thinking,
I know you,
I've known things like you.
Thinking: My finger is on the pulse of your story.
But gardens and big music,
the hard floors
the human smell
confetti and eggshells
Your story has long veins.
April 1st
for Susan
You, you, orange rose
in the attic of a deconstruction; the shingles, the sky
looked up and east
You poled the Mississippi
murk plants tickled your belly
you wrote your own raft
you rode it, you, you
look like a bowsprit maiden, hair scrolled out
sweetening sea gods, hands like sails
and tar eyes
catching, catching
When you were carved,
they used the same saws on me
only duller.
You, you
pitch through waves
move through me like I'm water.
You, you, orange rose
in the attic of a deconstruction; the shingles, the sky
looked up and east
You poled the Mississippi
murk plants tickled your belly
you wrote your own raft
you rode it, you, you
look like a bowsprit maiden, hair scrolled out
sweetening sea gods, hands like sails
and tar eyes
catching, catching
When you were carved,
they used the same saws on me
only duller.
You, you
pitch through waves
move through me like I'm water.
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