100% recycled plastic i know this jurassic is a vessel. fern & footprint. all the oil in my blood from years of drinking from petri dishes. the billboards i pass on the way to confession have a womb for pterodactyls. eggs in the fridge dreaming of their factory mothers. more & more & more. an arrow circles the world like a drone. when i say "cycle" i mean winter is coming back with webbed feet. we try to make gods of every convenience. once i kneeled outside the 7/11. once i ate plastic sacrifice. neon angels. fire blooms behind every shut door. today, it rains bottle caps.
barricades the road ached with lemonade construction as i drove past the cementry. one-way streets cat's cradling through the city's hornet's nests. i'm trying to park. trying to be a car. elbows falling from a grey cloud. porch people & their banisters. stray cats laugh with quarter's for eyes. i am another person who wants to fry eggs on the side walk. who digs graves in the sidewalk & plucks spring onions from the sidewalk. i hold my steering wheel like a microwave dinner as cars put on goat horns. every house is a pocket book of bills & mint candies. i finally find a spot. the sky is a pink. i am far away.
chord book when i played guitar, my fingers were a bestiary. i sat in my bedroom listening to death cab for cutie, trying to follow each chord change. at night, i bleached the love poems out of my hair. i was sixteen & i had too many fingers to keep track of: salamanders & newts & toads. all of them looking for water. reading my chord book, i pictured every neck as a stream. my fingers, skipped stones. i was never very good. couldn't press down hard enough on the blood. strummed clumsy as a minnow. still, i miss the way i thrummed, animal & thirsty.
cloakroom i'm all for shedding what we can. we sit elbow to elbow & don't talk about how i am texting a new god this week. an uber is on his way. here. parks inside my throat. outside, the winter has fingernails. polar bear ghosts awaken to walk the avenues. i never believed i could truly be bare for you. inside, i showed you everything i used to wear to funerals: black dress & black feathers & black crown. you had a gift for me but you left it in the pocket of another coat. i too have gifts undelivered. my mouth. my breath. my ankles. i take your coat & you, mine.
mood lighting in the box i always glowed bisexual. the video game screen had on a single pixel & i held the remote like a grocery store. riding my bike on the ceiling. skinned knees as pillows. he took out his teeth on by one & said, "she loves me, she loves me not." we ate nothing but light bulbs for days & i told myself soon he will love me so completely i'll forget my gender. this is what coat hangers are for: for folding a memory like a pair of wings. in his dorm room we talked as if neither of us had faces. rows of lights traced the seams of the room like viking ships.
re-sewing the needle talks to me like a baby bird. i need so much thread. even my desires are translucent. i think i have taken too long to grow a thick skin. i live a life full of punctures. sand pours from my mouth. at the bottom of a well, i talk to a demon with the same problem. he says cracked words. i can't hear him over the desert. everyone spends their last life as a mourning dove. standing in a green green lawn & thinking about cranberries & mothers & wilting vased flowers. the last time i was really kissed i asked if i could see his seam. a line down his back. he said, "right here." i could see where feathers were coming out & he let me re-sew it for him.
welcome to my miniature life i dug this grave with a spoon. everything was a baby but especially the television & each breath i took. my cherry tomato fist. palm standing & calling a boyfriend "zeus." talk to me like you would a necklace of ants. i am here to carry away each grain of sugar. doorknobs the size of knuckles. even smaller still is the passage i use to sneak into the walls. knock three times on moon & wait for a seagull to open the door. i am not welcome in most dioramas. they say, "where is your mother & father?" i say, "i am my mother & father."
guilt free we sit in front of the factory drinking seltzer & talking about hunger. when we were kids, we accidentally fed our goldfish to death. filled the surface with flakes & watched them swallow & swallow & swallow until their bodies were no longer their own. you ask me how to make enough money. the seltzer is peach flavor. tastes like hallways. i want to be a guilt free person. someone who doesn't replay each conversation we have for years after. am i a good sibling? why don't i have any answers? i pretend the seltzer is a can of real fruit & that i am feasting. i drink quickly. you crush your can under your shoe.
boiling meat from bone you took off your coat three times before you entered. winter smacked bells against every window. for you, my hands became door stops. in the cupboard pickled song bird eyes unfurled to diamonds. the meat is always in the way. i wept for days as walls fell off each side of the house. soon it was just me & the vacuum cleaner. sucking in my stomach i stood in front of a full-length demon. wrote you letters & each lost its exoskeleton on the way. delivered & delivering. watching my knees like watermelons. there is always more to cut away. i banished your mouth only to find it whispering in every corner.
antlers for almost once dead boys with a pocketknife we planted seeds in our skulls. blood throbbing all night long. on the trail the day before, we watched a buck chasing a comet. he looked over his shoulder to tell us "feed the sun." so we did. we baked all day & all night. offering loaf after loaf of bread. sun refused to eat until he saw deer had come too. an antler is a branch from one day into the next. one body to the dirt to the roots. an antler is a courier. it took weeks but the seeds did take. in the mirror, now, an oak tree sprout grows from my skull. soon, i will have antlers. planets will nest here. i ask them to ward off my hunger.