Where Do Your Loyalties Lie?
I saw the architect of your mind was my own
The same world was prying out through the tiny, square possibility of flight
From my childhood, when shoulder blades were wings
Dream Baby Dream
I am a baby, afraid only of falling
And loud noises
But it’s not true
I have a feeling it’s not true anymore
sculptor
I saw your play on Thursday but couldn’t make sense of anything
After I took my seat I grew rabid and weak, while my hands and my feet were elsewhere
Clawing towards some victory so far from the truth
changeling
there you will find me, the changeling changing her clothes
the other one got snapped up in the jaws of transformation, just like that
speaking on all my empty platitudes
but just like every other law-abiding girl, she got caught
that is the point
characterizing my sins
by a multiplication of obsession, of observation
it is a brutal awakening
into a fingertip lunge
cat’s cradle
I remember an embarrassing pause we took
between Tuesday and Wednesday morning, when I was
Washing my hair, scrubbing my scalp
Getting my youth clean for you
say nothing sweet
to be there again afraid
the way i was in the moment, both old and young
afraid of affection and peril
and being topless: a right prude
temptress
it is between your teeth now
souring flesh and sweetening
up your cheeks, the god behind the sky
wants to pry
you open—so you’ll notice it’s whisper
it’s right hand shifting higher on your thigh
stings like a hornet
and have you seen the cherry tree?
the market for reverie is suffering
billow of sunlight, storm of morning
we knew about nothing—it was sweet
and we knew it too, we were bare-foot
duller then, much happier, apparently
it is much easier to kiss if there is no
proof of time passing. pleasure was a clean wound; i could touch yours.
olivia
olivia, i saw you on the stage today
electric breath i saw you bathe
in their viral applause; song&dance
kisses in the air hanging there, all silk fast fame frozen-over
a lake; all tears in spades, moss at the break
of your hairline
winter, what do you want from me?
the publishers, they
like this
kind of
muck
about waiting
pining
being lost
dissection of any body
i imagined
being up against you
the far reaches of you
edges, corners
multifarious beings
disguised
cloaked in skin
of you
i wanted you
to despise me
lies i tell
when you asked me what i wanted
i begged you, get the blinds
and so i used my hands to teach you
about your body, earthquakes, the divides
between us and mankind
merciful
at dawn’s pink answering, my buzzing flesh ceased
life’s bell had called upon me—it was young and miserable then
in black bleating sheep came the pale lying misery
quis sum ego?
crawling out of me like first light
the self as an expression of desire
dark with smile, a mindless flashing through
an infinite dryness of being
for the: bubble fairy
bless you, baby-blue! the sky stretched a mile high
the day dance ended at bare tapping feet and the crowded ball-room
wrinkly pictures to bend but no performer could, bust an arm
open season on love
wrung high and decrepit as a sore man-child
might still dream upon a splintered soul
he prays still, body of blood when all is to spoil
mama; newborn
mother lives tonight—yes, for now she breathes in bed
together we watch the fan blades spin
into the flesh-red, she breathes-in dark and hums
watching the room
see my skin, i too can writhe
forlorn
like your fox’s plywood face
thank fuck for the death of men
i am unfolding like a purple tangerine, peeled backend black and pale.