1.
A CEMETERY IS A TYPE OF THEATER
The birds of paradise make a wounded song
Fuzzy in the glen with italics in her legs
A crown of thorns in her wet kiss. A type
Of harness -- to hang on, protection.
The wounded singing is a type of howl
A type of call that echoes off the grid
Alack alack alack
There have been so many switch swinging sisters
I wasn’t sure what the war was for
Only that we were in it
I grew grubs in my finger beds
And fed snails to purse strings
Anchored in the gassy mists
Of those lazy comets (continents), always
Getting lost as ships slink
Over the horizon to meet some
Other day in some other world
The purple in the sky at dusk
Is a little gift to us from heaven
A gentle softening of the world
There is no reason for
Dreaming is important
It is how new futures are created
2.
FASCICLE
The beehive is full of text, blinking
wing-blur. A smudge of bone
against the weather. We huddled
close and lived like rocks. A family
of minerals pressed close. Our planets
are full of ruins [melancholic ambient
music]. I was lost today, under petal
of cloud thief, pushing a sad cart
across asphalt, craving the queerness
of the future you divined in faux
orbits, habitats cozy and warm. There is
no end and no beginning: we are all the same.
3.
AFTER
I named myself for the weather, the sins of my ancestors,
the sheath of earth that melts on the edge of this orbit.
A solar system can only do so much. I was on the brink
of madness for days, catching the tails of comets, eating
their dust, those icy minerals turning my guts to music.
Celestial tuning in the bones of extinct creatures from some
planet where pregnancy is a reflection in a mirror: to give
birth, you have to look away. The shadow of yourself
that you carry in your hands is like a bundle of sticks
in a language you don’t remember. I stepped on rings
and let them fling me to the distant reaches of the fen, thick
galaxies of marshy fog pulsing with the hot hearts
of unmet seasons. In my mouth, fur purrs in blue frequencies.
It’s how strangers always know where I’m from.
4.
LULLABYE
bees conjugate
the spells we can’t
allow to harm-
onize where
honey slid to beads
fawn-lamb fuzz-
nubbed the branches
bare the breeze
bark shed-slid
the sun glazed
the grass blades
twitching in
the gold shade
knives pressed hoof-
weft under bed
of cool dirt
kissed dark
bleed sweet so
tenderly asphalt chain-
link unhooked shadows
fray-flare buzz-burn
under-rubbed threads
clot the hothouse: heart
web unlettered weather
pretty clusters whimper
shelter clover cover cuddles
just us, just dust
5.
ANIMALS STRIKE CURIOUS POSES
I pull the ashes out of the roses
Out of my hair
Slowly eat through the fur
To the cold scales flecked
Like hard stones. A white feather
Wafts off of my tongue out into the air
Hot with thorns and the magenta souls
Of kind ghosts clinging the petals, making
Faces through the windows, those frail
Veils. In the afternoon the earth purrs
In warm sun, skin gliding over silked dirt.
We've learned from worms, their words
Rotting in my mouth. My teeth fall out.
It's a womb of warm hurting. If you kissed
Me now, I'd raise your dead.
Be careful
Who you fall in love with
in springtime.
A CEMETERY IS A TYPE OF THEATER
The birds of paradise make a wounded song
Fuzzy in the glen with italics in her legs
A crown of thorns in her wet kiss. A type
Of harness -- to hang on, protection.
The wounded singing is a type of howl
A type of call that echoes off the grid
Alack alack alack
There have been so many switch swinging sisters
I wasn’t sure what the war was for
Only that we were in it
I grew grubs in my finger beds
And fed snails to purse strings
Anchored in the gassy mists
Of those lazy comets (continents), always
Getting lost as ships slink
Over the horizon to meet some
Other day in some other world
The purple in the sky at dusk
Is a little gift to us from heaven
A gentle softening of the world
There is no reason for
Dreaming is important
It is how new futures are created
2.
FASCICLE
The beehive is full of text, blinking
wing-blur. A smudge of bone
against the weather. We huddled
close and lived like rocks. A family
of minerals pressed close. Our planets
are full of ruins [melancholic ambient
music]. I was lost today, under petal
of cloud thief, pushing a sad cart
across asphalt, craving the queerness
of the future you divined in faux
orbits, habitats cozy and warm. There is
no end and no beginning: we are all the same.
3.
AFTER
I named myself for the weather, the sins of my ancestors,
the sheath of earth that melts on the edge of this orbit.
A solar system can only do so much. I was on the brink
of madness for days, catching the tails of comets, eating
their dust, those icy minerals turning my guts to music.
Celestial tuning in the bones of extinct creatures from some
planet where pregnancy is a reflection in a mirror: to give
birth, you have to look away. The shadow of yourself
that you carry in your hands is like a bundle of sticks
in a language you don’t remember. I stepped on rings
and let them fling me to the distant reaches of the fen, thick
galaxies of marshy fog pulsing with the hot hearts
of unmet seasons. In my mouth, fur purrs in blue frequencies.
It’s how strangers always know where I’m from.
4.
LULLABYE
bees conjugate
the spells we can’t
allow to harm-
onize where
honey slid to beads
fawn-lamb fuzz-
nubbed the branches
bare the breeze
bark shed-slid
the sun glazed
the grass blades
twitching in
the gold shade
knives pressed hoof-
weft under bed
of cool dirt
kissed dark
bleed sweet so
tenderly asphalt chain-
link unhooked shadows
fray-flare buzz-burn
under-rubbed threads
clot the hothouse: heart
web unlettered weather
pretty clusters whimper
shelter clover cover cuddles
just us, just dust
5.
ANIMALS STRIKE CURIOUS POSES
I pull the ashes out of the roses
Out of my hair
Slowly eat through the fur
To the cold scales flecked
Like hard stones. A white feather
Wafts off of my tongue out into the air
Hot with thorns and the magenta souls
Of kind ghosts clinging the petals, making
Faces through the windows, those frail
Veils. In the afternoon the earth purrs
In warm sun, skin gliding over silked dirt.
We've learned from worms, their words
Rotting in my mouth. My teeth fall out.
It's a womb of warm hurting. If you kissed
Me now, I'd raise your dead.
Be careful
Who you fall in love with
in springtime.