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@2015hasbeenfun-blog
Out in the relief, the corduroy, the first to have been here, this is something serious & “something dark,” I teased & never said. Terrified of false memories, knowing myself as a momentous liar, that’s the wall time. That’s the slats, you gone fishing. A man submerging nearby. Happening half-cuts its foot on over. The symbols stampede for your interpretation & not mine.
terminal, the hearsay and the austerity which reigns an iron fist. lengthwise i haven’t learned to trust this balljoint, funded by rain. a wet spasm. i busted, out. i’m bunted, the smallest teammate. clothes bumping dry. i caught the ball but who would believe it. or every eye in the stadium sewn onto me. where every bat spins with fear. and any son of his would’ve known every law. hanging like the victim of a hanging. bugs on my legs like a clock to alarm me. nobody harm me.
the renovation
ADMISSION
You predigest your hand before it writes me That’s an open fruit passing over the box That’s your advice that I keep on drinking I spend all day Googling other men with your name Not the fosterling out of Wisconsin Meat-eating? I can’t remember But you dress a pig leg
like any book-lover An injury clicks into place and you could never want me there though I rescue the hole from a windy house in a towel
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THE NEWS
The trees, their proximity, would usually filch the electricity from the base of the storm, but at the double-neck of the vertices lightning struck both giraffes, who did not take cover though given the opportunity; in the comments, someone trails off about ball lightning. Instantaneous was their manner of passing. The sky was blue, they knew nothing. If vertices were to meet, they would self-illuminate. The sky was blue. Wednesday a helicopter crash-landed into a rooftop minutes before I emerged from the subway stop below the building, squinting, after a long ragged peel up the river; spinning what I’d expect on its head, an accident. Recognizing the sound of one and becoming giddy. The cloud-to-ground coverage and discharge, cars forming a funnel. The role of the lighthouse raises an argument under the bridge. And were there two strikes? A victimless crime. The distance between the two giraffes was minimal. Borrowing what was yours makes it mine. To where the cold front was sinking, my glee clearing, flurried hair still landing.
I guess I sit down to write about dating The disquiet I rebound off of, coatrack of Arms bent around me, an eye a different Shape from any I can name. I guess It’s only if I could make a miracle. How Much time is enough time, the part of The seed that never grows. It’s never Too late to dust off my sleep. I think, Which is to say I'm not here. All I’ve had Is a long childhood, which is to say I am grateful. Play never stops. I do, but play doesn’t.
DO NOT
Like a horse mid-buck I ask you to say each thing you say again because I am difficult & you are hoary & broad I know that type of plainness I understand what it means to be the broadest the flattest how it’d feel to take a box cutter to your own cheeks & press the stark flesh into rounds that you line neatly across the tabletop like eggs I’d do anything to be delicate you do not mumble I am merely being difficult switching my weight leg to leg I must be a myth or I must be right outside of one, whatever you think it symbolizes to be just over one’s shoulder but also across the lawn like a shepherd laid out on his back eyes juddering under the brim of his cap I know your first name but not how to use it I fear becoming a workbook of victimhood, a panning out & resolving of whirlpool back to steep river or naked my hooves finding purchase in the muck I hope you have never been vulnerable or asleep ever in your life you seem unsure of how next to turn the skewer you understand me as a child or you do not.
DISCIPLINARY SONNET
Every root in me confronted absolutely, undressed and resheathed in wrongs that must be met with action, that action must take itself against. Am I involved? No– but still the perpetrator, all the evidence sorted, neat topography. This office must be in a basement. No other explanation for how taut the light pulls. When she releases me, the head of the flower is too heavy for its stalk. A bout of warm weather? A breeding program bent on distension? If you shout, I shout in response. Compress me, if you have to. Water digested into soil. This process, too small for logic.
THE ROOST (original version of BY UNDETERMINED MEANS)
if this is the pyramid and i am inside i lose my doubts i find the girl the soaked plume the absence of waste & the blanket, & the thing slipping into it mass hysteria & a clean skull could swallow & do so little recovered, the pink pleats to blindly stuff a thrashing or not thrashing, reemergence of water swing- down of the blade, or the answer, or the cull to ease out my strength girl then woman whose talons drag stones in from winter whose roots sing white across my shallow yard where i go & go, original fish, in all my passionate & meatless ways losing my sight & each wing, overburdened with rain
PASSAGE
the moment I am severed in the cleave, harp, steel, pleading a silhouette into mercy unnatural I remember lying into my own shallow hands whispering how good but in fact only shining I remember rolling over, over, quartered animal, full barrel after being strung up by its ankles like a cathedral still I crush the narrative between two skins left in collapse on the silver beach each ring on each finger, slowly released, and stinging and the other breastplate could have ruptured but ended like a bird to the mountain when each clove of the corpse wrinkled in the light until only the humming claws remained until the scavengers repurposed the skin and the ropes once good grew damp, until, of a sudden, I find myself real flag-rapt, my feet solid on the sword, the burden accepted for me, so I must, so I surge into the vault so I bury my heart in the road so I lope in droves so I howl, gain ground, slap the sand, find that I cannot respect a frontier if I am the first to do so yet tear my clothes for speed yet gallop perpetually against it and stud the desert with my body yet I brawl alone I pray for sunrise and I kick aside the bone.
MISSION
i want to follow you through the woods to wind myself around the cornerstone like a lizard basking on a hot grave, florida i accept no explanations i forfeit my wager and i flood my projections over you and you reject them by the blood and i take you by the throat and i wring you like a rooster and i want you to admit to your authority to set the chalice upright and sip from it then dash it against the marble, aggregate, you, eleven, of a lineage, of a most noble lineage, a North American extrajudicial patriarch and a child zealot smearing god over all and a slick poolside girl vanishing into a towel
PROJECT BENT ON DISTENSION
after Bernadette Meyer I guess it’s too late to live on the farm Not too late but where wheat goes runny My legs too go thin And my hands tremble to unclasp To dislocate this berry this fruit This faceless head this stalk Here may I unbuckle may Don the blisters flay myself From pole to pole And whistle up to Find my knife a bird Carving the air morning After an unnatural rain Compass take me Left and left Tall field of man Bear me unlikely To what hunts here This star relentless I guess it’s too late to begin farming To straighten the linens To strip it dry To fray the descent The mother the mother And the heavy head
BY UNDETERMINED MEANS
a thrashing or not thrashing reemergence of water swing down of the blade, or the answer, or the cull to ease out my strength girl then woman whose talons drag stones in whose roots slip white through my shallow yard where i go & go passionate meatless ways counting what i have in the blanket the soaked plume the absence could clean swallow the pink pleats blindly stuffed i could & do so shave the wool from my shame but the lamb chimes won’t show me her belly let me scrub away her blood
My cousin’s grandfather survived 133 days at sea on a life raft. He holds that record. He drank shark blood and gull blood, learned to swim to stay strong. And at the end he mounted the dock unaided. I once mistook a shark for an eel, its head perpendicular to its body, thrown open. Every long body looks the same, but it doesn’t. My cousin swims for a team.
My mother doesn’t want to remember each performance. She still dreams of the dye in her tights running the tubwater brown. I’d be humiliated by the necessity, but I’m pale and can’t come close. Once I got to see her dance, only to cry when she took flight at the end, asking loudly if she was in pain. Later I saw her backstage, her makeup splitting her face into segments, mimicking how shadows would fall against a beak. I saw her contracting, not quite smiling. Not many triangles, whole. This year the townhouse flooded. The only survivor is the wardrobe we’d play records from, empty now for some time, wall-sized and oak and cork. Everything is obvious now that it has happened, better to be dead than dying, but no choice involved, permanent storage.
I hate everything that doesn’t take care of me. This is very un-American, Unlike outbursts. I do say what I mean Not what I should say. Taking care in the marsh. Farting around in bed. Absolutely I’m American, I don’t like Anywhere else any more, everywhere Is horrible and I got squeezed out here, so Here I’ll stay, not doing much, waiting For a milestone or a mood change, my Medicine soaking through me, see, A kind of dishonor. Where of course I’ve always been lucky. Left with the Impression that someone was shining A bright light over my eyes. Am I ever going to die.
THE SHIP (main dummy draft)
I kept your bed warm a cow propped naked in the hay We took stick figure vacation skimming cups off the water We were chasing men their autonomous wheeling arms choosing from a row of softly breathing men A cowboy, a spy, I liked the sheriff who sacrificed speed to keep a shotgun on each hip Hoarse from listening to your unsteadiness I kept secrets by accident Gnats buttered up to me and I shook to disrupt them Pain, however worthwhile, is not customizable Pain goaded my unkindness into bursting outside waving a misted weapon and chattering like a snake For a long time I dreamed to drill your fingers to a cabin door like a peephole, from the wrist up twisted and purposeless a sharp beak to suck water but no slipstream your cursor fixed a stone arrowhead you’re not allowed to drown here you say and block the entranceway I lose each iteration and reverberate off a flock of nonplayable characters while I lick through my false machetes witness you naked holding the button down