sticks and stones

let me compare thee

to a car crash

full of broken glass

and blood on the street

everyone slows down to look

i am a dancer

limp and lonely

with angry eyes

and a dirty black dress

we eat fireworks

breathe smoke on a backdrop

of twisting metal

where you lay me down

lock me up

leave me

to drown in lightning

and rain

but i know the way back

from the crumbs of your

cracked soul

and i come stomping back

across your chest

to carve clouds

in your stomach

while you sleep.

Eve's Revenge

i like the way you

paint me out to dry

a sidewalk chalk monalisa

you're tall enough to be my mirror
old enough to be my 4 month younger

twin

except your eyes
are not origami unfolding
they are something warm on the stove

but i like the brushes you use
to color me in

or

sometimes a dull pencil you
sharpen to write stories about
this salem Snow White
burnt to ash
on a wednesday
while mouths tasted
ebony becoming smoke

the priest
who never kneels
spills
i heard that you camoflauged your
confessions
when you begged him
with your biblical name
as a man of god

as a boy of questionable motives

to find out for you

if the 4th of july juliet
who made fireworks in your mouth
still somewhere breathed
still held the title
of fairest
most fucked up
of all

but i came back to life for you
swam up from the bottom of the mississippi river
in the dead of night
next to a ferry dock
pulled myself out
by a split black umbilical
payphone cord
like
an off-broadway ophelia

smudged black and occasionally blue
and weren't you relieved that in our
shakespearean tragedy
my resurrection
kept you alive, too?

a clown-faced cleopatra
smiling at snakes that squeeze
me into every passerby's
imagined history

aging lolita with a candymouth
way of shaping words so that they
merge into things i do
with my hands
when you're too afraid to look

it's too quiet
i need a horse and an army
of acrobats to concoct a scheme
to get me out of here
a mint julep joan of arc
ready to lead my fog-fed forces
into battle
with the blasphemy
of blood at the end of your bed

start with a fact
and build a misogynist mystery
"there's a wall in china..."
that i wear as a garter belt
full of tens and twenties
up on a table nearer my
ceiling fan and
god to thee
dancing in and out of wilting
flowers
like the virginmary on ecstacy

you're wearing a bulletproof vest
you think i can't see
under all your brandname bravery
with your glass slipper soul
and hunter's box with a heartshaped hole
you pretend will fit anybody

but when i start the alphabet
i work my way back from Z
and right about now
i'm flying from
d to c to b
right up to the scarlet A that gets in the way
of your soon to be injured achilles

i like the way
you marilynmonroe me
over your heater vent

and when i'm falling
from the tops of tall buildings
you everytime capture me loislane-style
in mid-air
uncannily

never seeing the delilah scissors
i hide behind my back

waiting
waiting

for you to fall asleep.

its been
something like a landslide
and i was proverbially

buried

or maybe a tornado came through
momentarily ripping
me

from you

we know no shelter
to keep us safe
from stormconditions
from spinning blessings
of air
gaining speed
on our slow way
of speaking...

in the south
the sun turns purple
just before
collapsing
into humid horizons

and sometimes
i am more

undone

than that.

breathshaking somehow
you leave me
arriving with the want of more
and then less
emptiness

silent rhythms soothing through
channels
like fish swimming
all at once
and scattering into
starpatterns
intuitively
i move when i feel
you are closing in on spaces
between my fingers eyelids
ribs
that vibrate
with a constant pumping sound
two-fold
forward...recede
as if this was dancing
and dangerous
and everything was lit
by burning silk
knocked over candles

and something melted
down the sides
of our glasshouses
impervious to stone
or hail

come out of the clown car
and i will burden you with the taste
of my shoulders

slipping inside your mouth
like medicine
for a weary heart
grown ancient
before its time

i wanted to be
an elephant
disguised as a backwards giraffe on
your shelf
somehow holy
quaking
burning holes in people's palms
when they picked me up

signifying something
celestial
a caterpillar constellation
retreating into a cocoon
of roughripped silkstrings
that unravel
in the steam
of this city
when the moon spells june
into the palm
of a deafblind
deity
who blinks
twice
and folds into shapes
that almost look
like words

you make me feel illiterate
i have no proper words worthy
to respond to the cardboard kindnesses
you lay at my feet

so i soak in the subtleties
of time and place
fixed points on a graph
and its too early for me to be awake
but you stir something
in me from sleep
from dreams
and back in again
so that i don't know
which is which
anymore

lost in violet silence
where you are a soft whir
or hum
along my arms
sliding against me
more real than my blankets
more imagined than
mythology

to feast on each other in a cross-stitch
crazyquilt kissing game
where i breathe you in
swallow you
consume you
all in one movement
or a billion tiny movements
adding up to a tuesday
where you are in ohio
and did you know i drove through
ohio not long ago?

its not as far as you think
from my hand
to your heart.

you

are

delicious of mindbody

but your spirit floats

untouched by my tongue

i rolled over and over again
in sleep
crocodilestyle
as if

i was trying to escape something

i woke up tangled
in strings
caught by liliput nightmares

where you were my unlikely hero
with a key
to my sorrowshackled wrists

your fingerprints
set me free.

spun again
into the indifference
of a web for spiders
with no sense of
geography
no mortal instinct
to skim their legs
against
sapphiresheets

my head tips back
to drink in
the world
you have wrapped
inside layers
of language

until i'm drunk
dreaming
and dangerous

wet rats
as if i could be someone's
pet

call me up
tell me you want to come over

i don't have a house
but we could sit in my tent

and i'll tell you stories
of all my ghosts

spin around in circles
to the sound of
screeching tires

blacktop burning in
june
we hopskip run fast
from here to the sand

you with your stainless steel
lunchbox
crinkled smile

i had honeynut cheerios for
breakfast
and now i'm afraid
of the rest of the day

i have a check
that i wrote in excess
of the money in my account
there's a thunderstorm
warning
on tv

in between cartoons and
commercials

someone keeps saying the same thing
overandoverandover
a dog keeps barking
overandoverandover

and somewhere in new york
a broken fire hydrant
is spraying water
up into the sky
flooding a busy street
like artificial rain

call me up
tell me you're sorry for leaving
without saying goodbye
or goodnight

garbled dreams have stripped my blankets from
my nesting place
on yourmother's couch
on a dripdry sunday

you think i steal words
like a common criminal

but i've been in every kind of jail
imagined

my houdini-heart
knows no bounds...

hey miss
kiss my grits
i left a hallelujah
on your cell phone
just in case
i forgot what day it was
when sunday rolled around

hey mister martyr
as long as you're gonna be at the church
you should sweep the bells
find an air conditioning vent
and confess to
sucking the air
from the room
when i'm around

and you
people i don't know
don't look at me that way
just because i don't play
duck duck goose
by the same rules
you grew up with
doesn't mean
there's something

wrong

with me

(although i have plenty of other proof)

watch me hopscotch into a cup of ice
the misery index is topping out

the popularity polls are flatlining
and i'm fantasizing about chocolate ice cream
in a waffle cone

because i'm indulgent like that...

no wonder i don't like tv
the way the channels skip from
religion to ricochet bullets
and bad haircuts
its all intertwined
the commercials are like
my own dysfunctional family
the funny ones never stick around
as long as you'd like
and the unbearable ones
won't shut up

did someone threaten to call the police?

i roll down all my windows
open the sunroof
and skip my car payment
out of spite
for money
and obligation

i guess i've been replaced
or put in my place

but if i had some bubble gum
i might forget about the blood
just under the surface
suffocating in my own
sweet
mosquito friendly skin
everyone floods the exits

but i'm still looking for a way in.

i'm a cartographer i make
maps
i have a black pen and i draw grids and cities
in perfect replication
then build it all in sand
sometimes i use a chainsaw
to cut out lifesize
imitations
of cardboard cut outs
out of ice
i'm hungry
please help
i will work for
food
or
stories of how
a girl
bit
the very hand
that fed her...

there's something captivating

about being held captive

something tender about
the way you use your words
as weapons

physically speaking

you swallow the rain like breadcrumbs

i don't know how to talk to someone

like you

you scare me
like a dare i don't want to do

but if you knew a girl with origami eyes
and listen for thor's big black boots
as he opens his big black suitcase of lightning
i said so to speak to someone today

maybe for the first time this year
maybe for the first time ever

that's a little more convergence
than a virgin needs
to climb inside of a stranger's sheets

on a night like this
on a night like this

i remember the group

i remember every bruise on my peachplush
porchswing

i don't know why i say the things i do

i'd never do anything to hurt you

i'm knee deep in forgiveness but i hold myself
in these chains and drill holes in my hands

to fit your nails

every night at 6:15
i pause for the sound of church bells

an avalanche of artificial escape

we sin and sin again

in these imaginary landscapes

murdered our mother's idea of us

with an easy uptown grin

i drank my schoolgirl style into a
green and gold plaid oblivion

blood on my white knee socks

the humidity alone could kill
the taxi driver looks in his rear view
for a momentary thrill

i take a calendar full of pills
and throw them in the air

your eyes unfold he said to me
and i just smile

all in love's lonely war
is fair

take a vow of
violence
as my hand covers your
obscene mouth

stained from stealing sounds
from my throat

chanting devil doctrines
apples still green
and glistening

i stay buried in this hole
in your mismatched mattress
on the floor
only my eyes
move

as you fix
and destroy
patterns of light
with your own
dull
dance

i walked up to the gypsy and she held out
her hand to me
like she was looking for a physical favor
and all i had was a bag of...
all i had was sixteen...
all i had was a bad case of cyanide poisoning
which turned my lips a brilliant blue
so that when i talked
she thought i was born in the depression
and that my words
were like pieces of glass
crunching
crashing
screeching together
not words at all but something more
sinister
i was innocent and i left behind a kite tail
tangled
in the spokes of a tricycle tire
from when i was three
and the easter bunny
left tracks
in white
along my left
wrist.

teach me tell me
one more time

corkscrew

applesauce

cowboy hat

we live a life of nouns
textbook palms
you read to me from
rehearsed lines
of shakespeare
of
screenplays
and sing to me
in diners
where all the clocks are wrong

i hold your umbrella

a dozen eggs
two gallons of water
that must be joe
who bumped into me
with his shoulder
while you were looking at
lunch meat

i picked out bread

and you made me a sandwich
you never cook for girls
i should be lucky

my hands smell like you
even today

country music
brand new deadbolts
ex-lovers
phone calls

we live a life of verbs
between the lines
of poems

neither one of us
will ever write.

i walked up to the gypsy and she held out
her hand to me
like she was looking for a physical favor
and all i had was a bag of...
all i had was sixteen...
all i had was a bad case of cyanide poisoning
which turned my lips a brilliant blue
so that when i talked
she thought i was born in the depression
and that my words
were like pieces of glass
crunching
crashing
screeching together
not words at all but something more
sinister
i was innocent and i left behind a kite tail
tangled
in the spokes of a tricycle tire
from when i was three
and the easter bunny
left tracks
in white
along my left
wrist.

something invaded my
body made me
blind

little insects spurred
by stars appearing one by one
to sing or buzz or
build byzantine channels
in the ground

i feel the illness coiled
in the back of my neck
i feel the back of your neck
time and again
warm
under your hair

i felt the back of her neck
salty from the shipdeck
the gold and purple sails
the stage set for july
to come crashing over starboard
like an uninvited guest

like an unexpected phone call
like your voice
when i need something to lean on
the tallness
of a telephone pole
the easy gestures of your apathy
and sometimes
when you have nothing to lose
the way you
want to hold me

i'm just a spiderweb blueprint
all over the map
a blinking orange error light
i've run out of something
it may be critical
fatal
or fabricated
from the stolen scenes
from the movie posters
rolled up
in the corners
of my melodramatic memory

i fell asleep once for about an
hour and woke up
in a quandary
an aviary of feathers
stuck to the syrupside of me

i can't get your eyes off my skin
the emperor's clothes you made for me
and the unshakable notion
of your arms
circling
the wildest words
tattoo'd
inside of me...

covertly i covet
the honey

kickstand in the shin
sand in my mouth

mosquito bullies
and saturday morning cartoons

i scribble out your name
and throw a dart
at your picture
in my head

inside the cracked clocks
are 17 hours ahead
your smell is poison in my pockets
i don't want to breathe

is there a locksmith
in the house
is there a naked woman
to take my pincushion
place

i have a razorsharp
reason
to lie to myself
one kilometer at a time

your dirty hands
stained ink and sticking
to the pages
of limp lions
with big thirsty tongues

your black boots warning
the world
of your need to conquer

your habit
of running away...

it was 3:30 a.m.
when you opened your car door
slurred speech
i looked up at your window
across your broken balcony

the oak trees squealed with
the sounds of sleeping witches
in this haunted fairy tale
my feet hurt
and your tie was hanging
crooked
your hair was everywhere
messed up
from laser light
and cigarette smoke
dungeon dreaming
wide awake
your mouth moved
and poetry poured out
pancake syrup
silver dollars
sludge
from the bottom
of the mississippi river
and new york minutes

somewhere the director yelled
"CUT!"
and your mouth broke away
in subtle degrees
the european subtitles
dancing under our matching
black patent
leather shoes

the moon tore itself in half
the phone rang in your empty apartment
the stairway dark and damp
vampires chuckling on the landing
reveling in the way
you glanced
at my naked neck
before backing
slowly
away...

in the land of poppies
i could be born again
i could be contact lenses
in your eyes

i could be 1 and one fourth
inches tallers
barefoot
sculpted from
purity
planted in fertile soil
a sunflower seed
settled somewhere
silent

in abstract i could be
red lines swirling around
a blue sphere
upside down
framed in cherrywood

in a museum
of oohs and ahhs

in dreams i could be
the layers of tissue
around the package
the space under the mattress
the air breathed in and out
of a bedroom window
always left
open

artificially intelligent
less prone to
indifference
less likely to succeed
at being a mess
a maker
of my own destiny
in this choose your own
adventure
story

ambidexterous i could
calm you down
with either hand
wish you were here in any
language
or sometimes
wish you were dead

its my riddle
my punchline
my wedding
my mockery parody
satire
my mouth making the
moves
my fingers typing
MSY
to
SOMEWHERE ELSE
looking for the price
of international espionage

not that i could ever
keep a secret...

two steps down a broken sidewalk
past the door

a tree falling over
into a wall of flowers
a pond gone green

a waterhazard
trickling into ooze
a forestfire on the news
candycoated wrists
and dreamed up
conversations

clipped wings
the parrot sits in the tree
looking at the sky
as i look
at the apartment next door
dark blue carpet
in an upstairs bedroom
too lush
for my tastes

wrought iron rails
a highway outside
no pets, she says
and i lie and tell her
i have a good job
i make a lot of money
as if i really wanted to live
in Paradis
in a 4plex
next to a landlady
named Sally
with Christian books
piled up on the shelves

with her hands that pushed me forward
to see the parrot, green and
flightless
in a little tree
in her backyard

i shudder and quake
in my own sin
i haven't eaten anything
but delicious thoughts
4:30 a.m. situations
that i hide in my pockets
that i hide under my clothes
so the guilt of my skin
makes that swishing sound
when i walk

one step
backwards
down
a broken sidewalk...

lost again
in the carnival atmosphere
of black shoes
and bare feet
dog hair
everywhere

and another mistake
made twice

these sandcastles
i build so beautifully
but never can they last

i watch the tide
float in
deadly to my dreams

my fingers lined
with guitar strings
i still don't know how to play
and these unruly curls
hiding my himalayan
eyes haunted by kisses
i've never felt

tortured by hands
that have never touched
my broken nested
invisibly butchered
belly

the noise
the screaming
growling
the threatening skies
in midday moments
when i spend my
fortune
on quiet
that never comes

porchswing progress
amigos with apathy for
living things
we passed a dead snake on the sidewalk
a dog dead in the rain
beside the road
a bird being devoured
by ants

i got a new camera
and sent you some photos
of unknown shapes
and the fleshy color
of the palms
of my hands
pomegranate seeds
and the inside covers
of my favorite books

i ate spaghetti
and rolled in cut clover
dreamed lawnmower sounds
and woke up coughing
on a stranger's couch
in a house i'd known
all my life

boys were swinging beside the high-
way into a swamp
from a rope
in a tree
red shorts
and wrecklessness
i thought of alligators
waiting below

the heat was unbearable
or so i thought
big splashes of
occasional rain
and dollar store demons
that follow my headlights
not knowing i'm lost

so i licked my lips
and my last envelope
sent you some sort of symbol
of my uncalloused fingers
my obsession with birds
that don't bite
and beachborne shelter
in the shape of a shell
stained purple here
on a background of cream
a new orleans sunset
cracked in a piece
you could hold
in your
faraway hand

tile floor tease
my back arches
expectantly
waiting for the telephone to
tie around my lips
let's lie in suspended
animation
let's lick fire from
smoldering logs
and smell like smoke
all day

drumroll please
or at least a billion
bumblebees
i need noise
and you
on your knees

catapult i'm catastrophic
in green
i'm waiting for the director
to start this scene
where i am juliet
turned obscene

carpetclogged veins
pulsing stuttered rhythms
beating out the cadence
of ex lovers' names
little deaths and trainwrecks
fingertips
that smell
that taste
like

sex/.

in the cushions of your
sofa
all gold and red
i thought i was strung up
in your new curtains
in fancy words spilling out of the open dictionary
on your bedside table
i curled coquettishly
into the cavebat conundrum
of carnival colors
in the pink telephone
where you keep my voice
in the old fashioned
record player
where we spin around
predictably
and then spontaneously
where we combust into
kissing
and kites
with long lush
rainbow tails...
interrupted by thunderstorms
and theology
and ex lovers
who live
in jars
on our shelves
between books of poetry
and diseases
i walk down the stairs
into the rain
into the nest
of night...