We actually, not also

rise

 

she thought freedom, like performance, resisted repetition

yes, it's true

Even the rhythm of moons, circling forever 

named wolf, harvest, blue

 

neither good

nor pretty

but true

 

I was there

 

skull. I tell them.  skull to the earth

Open your mouth, your pelvis, your hands

she does, gloriously

who am I but a beast donning announcements

painting the bones of their becomings like clay

 

 

His words touched me like rocks forming wrinkles in time

i worshipped those stones, never knowing I would burn them like cowpies and dance

Fire so bright in bleak winter

 

Gibran came to my circle, dressed as Ovid, wearing wigs

boys dont

afraid to 

 

When Icarus fell no one knew he'd been there

I saw it flash in his eyes

 

 

No somber nights in the candy shop

They sell fluorescent bulbs, shoot horses

I offer stones

 

 

Sense will pour into me like sweet wine

 

double nested 

quadruple breasted 

and desperate

to

yank you 

back 

 


the day they demolished the statue of men kissing in the plaza,

i found god in my ovaries

 

 

perfect for drowning

what I can't see

 

most of my decisions have been reasoned with,

tortured and cultivated into sense missives



 

to say a thing and call it by its name.

touch bare grass at the edge of sanity

isn't this birth too?

 

 

 

 

Surprised, feeling the needle glide in time, half-sensed in dream,

 

quiet at the doorships of my ears

neither looming nor inviting

nor seeking translation

a metal shovel on icy snow

again, again

 

 

"And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light." (gibran)

 

I eat you.

 

 

the way the norse sea wolf insisted on story, weaving his viking hair with seaweed and fibers of storm

her daughter melting icicles all over the city's lanterns until they broke

trees cracking across dawn

across a table, in the presence of enemies

empty tubs wait our nestled rest

--not the hips though

pulled, yanked


 

 

I like it better after dark

when my chest cracks open and the earth slips side

 

pour mud from the marrow of my bone

when I'm gone

you'll find me in the broken bead, third from the left

bright blue

when the hawk lands

again on this branch and you name the moon yellow

 

not for blonde

but for the way she eats the sun