“Mohammed Rasulu Allah,” (Mohammed is the messenger of God) she enunciated, giggling.
Dangle from a hook and shape-shift between noun and adjective
I know these rivers that flow through me / I’ve gazed out from their hearts and still you do not see me
They were no less fragile than us, these creatures, / but they seemed better used to staring down a fast / coming death.
It’s Sugar features a giant / blond plump lips parted, sucking a lollipop
I said to my partner yesterday, I want to die. / He said do you want to go to the hospital.
Then I wait, a woman / alone, hoping / to have touched the heart / of the widower.
maybe it is time for me to write poems for You. The Somebody Else. / i need to find a way to eat what comes out of me. The Wonder
CREW: (From the grid) It’s sweet that you think you / can break the fourth wall.
The horse stood trembling, had caught his leg in a toothed snare intended for the fox, / and she limped
you can take the boy / but the heckie naw stays / announcing his nation
white woman says that i would look so beautiful if only i took the time to straighten my hair
My priestess fries her perfect / eggs-in-a-nest: a seeping well, / saturating seams of crust.
At the duplicating center I work for, sometimes customers will leave behind important legal or personal documents
it was like in that moment, / the demon crawled out / of my chest to set a colorless fire / to my face and said believe her
Not all clouds is something I might add, as a postscript, not all clouds
ma said don’t touch don’t scratch don’t
you can return to masonry / be a gavel
At sixteen, she’s still new to this nation that un-names her daily.
trying to contain expansion means explosion
Our son will have solar flare / freckles splattered on his cheeks
I cannot take what isn’t a gift. Socket, Stiff dance, misdeed, a half intelligible embrace.
My mother always laughs / when she tells that story.
I call you Ella from your very beginning
yellow almonds, middle eastern eyes
the women did not flee Mosul because they became of wings
I told father and things came flowing out of our red front door
Ghosts are like our otherselves in the multiverses grown
In the ghost town, a way station until E.’s wedding, you keep your vow to a dry-tongued silence.
My spoiled teeth suck down brawny intrusions.
I wish I did not negotiate my body like a capitalist always fearing my scarcity
hammered into the wall of the coffin pit picked up by me as you wandered as far along the rails as needed.
Between my fingers is a veil through which I may glimpse the sun.
Nobody is surprised. Nobody even tries to leave.
His mother kept two cockatoos in her bedroom. They sometimes shat on her bed, nightstand, on framed pictures of Angelito’s grandfather.
When the rhino broke its way out of your body / it broke its horn off too
I am failing to speak the language but I know now it is possible
& I’m not hearing All You Wanted by Michelle Branch or what about my skin or religion needs to be rescued
"folks care more about cars than they do bodies"
I am sure that my blonde hair is beautiful but the beauty of my other physical attributes I am much less sure of
Ugolino is a no-eyed man who jumps on his children
At the fading light bring to her the wolfish mouth of your need.
closed eyes to the watchers in the shadows angels formed in angles beneath the glittering opal
i awoke to the sound of a neighbor crying someone’s suffering is combing my hair
Sometimes when I enter a room, I pretend Zamunda from Coming to America is a real place.
If I could be seen as a force instead of an object instead of a hobby, if I could just do without having to be seen, or if it didn’t matter to me at all, I could be invincible.
black out the windows but the storm is in the house lightning in the bathtub rain over the carpet
Is it because always running is a cliché? And clichés are a rerun of something different? And since you were a boy, did they feed you questionable
i went to see the wizard & asked him for a cock he must have seen by the scuffs on my knees that i really needed one because he said ok
my small fingers curl around a cow’s teat. i point / it in the direction of the pail below. i don’t want to hurt
an animal on stilts reaches the virgin’s tears / and tenderly wipes them. / the virgin cries tres monjitas milk, without coffee.
Someplace else enrages the turtle why a turtle a turtle never did anything to me okay then an old white man with a sign.
Geoffrey, sometimes I think I wear my sadness like caul fat. / Like how a fetal pig never asks to be dressed
Despite everything, my parents raised me. / They even loved me. These things / should always be surprising.
When E is gone / and left / who will I be?
I watched a woman become gore under microscopes, / glowing skin a subterfuge of dust and memory.
all of the lights in the store have gone burnt / dim gaping shelves bent back like bones / breathing fruit rot and dust and no one
What is the problem what is it I ask myself day after day it does not change / I walk through the rooms of my house I open the windows though it is cold
The priest feels a softness washing the back of his neck. Maybe it is rain, he thinks, or sweat.
that curved through the lungs and pierced everything I feared losing –
Anxious Diva tells me I’ve lost what’s fun about me. She says I’m flatter than death. Diva, help me cut these onions, help me feel arrhythmia, tell me how alive I want to be.
We cling to each other like / dust motes to light, and / fall the same way - slow and / landing in erratic patterns.
i couldn't remember what flowers The Hatchet liked so i brought some twigs and branches from the backyard
the overweight cannibals feed every fortnight the children frolic on our scalps this knocking is not a verb
I cannot take what isn’t a gift. Socket, Stiff dance, misdeed, a half intelligible embrace.
pre-existing conditions and the deep deep cuts that still draw blood and still take cultures
history & all its seasonings. Introduce her to your parents, your gods, your sharpened knives. Fry.
while everyone else takes out the ladder for fun. The last time I was fun
sweeping the floors after dusk isn’t easy, the frangipani petals still fragrant, still usable, when
international niceness studies. shuffle up, smaller fry, / smallfrei. they haven’t given us songs to sing to one another / in a while.
I receive reams of dry & toneless correspondence that all boil down to never mind
knows this road where it leads us home cocooned we watch our wings we grow we sleep rise and shine
My petals throbbed & stung & shivered with each recitation. & outside, on the play ground
i wanted a way out of the other into the old one, i wanted to fashion handcuffs
Michael—Mr. Stipe? Momentary God?—did your parents ever argue? do you even have parents?
it’s a voicemail when I’m standing in line at the pharmacy I’m working
crow flies through fog never knowing where to land / Crows need other crows / like a smooth monster skull cracking a jawline /
but then i realized that my body isn’t permanent y’know like bodies how bodies are
Skyline fucking up the alpenglow, W/o speed, so few odes
the ball at the top of my spine keeps spinning I cannot relax or see
we only know the night by sound. i can’t speak for the aspects that have been diagnosed as un normal
you say this offering is not death but a transformation from one kind of existence into another
& I too wanted a ghost. To be entered with no fanfare.
Was the couch plaid? Or what? I am trying to collect evidence.
We all slept in the same bed— bodies curved like mandibles. I was plume and warm feathered by your ginseng breathing,
Invite him to your mental cardboard, the dream of miniature golf and pizza at the park.
i am sad and everybody knows it i have the urge to take my shoes off and let my toes wiggle in the grass
desires to toss them to the ground desires to read the shards’ constellation of fates desires to know if his is lost somewhere in her
My stated goal is to make closed forms, which are very difficult and very beautiful.
Who will be with you as you become? I am not asking for me, but for the girl character who waits behind my eyelids
The deer neck’d bone hung between your breasts
a traumatic photosynthesis i have built a city entirely made of baby teeth, roots holding still the frosted fort.
Scattered along the wet sand are tiny, bioluminescent plankton, a different, brighter glow than the ubiquitous jellyfish.
of gold dust, the right dust, the only dust claimed or must they be re-worked into concrete dimmed
not coming, flattened, swallowed whole & hung like an old curtain,
The wet of the day I announce to nonspecific Bodies fill a space to watch Words make up a language I’m not sure I completely
1. Eat so many almonds, eat them until you are full to the brim with roasted almond skin pieces and tiny chewed up almond pieces, and then look in the mirror and see if your eye resembles the nut.
without the risk of losing myself, and there was blood along the edges of my blouse
As an evening like this when the final hour of light you’ve seen more often painted—indirect glaze softening stone, spires—is also porno pink
People keep talking about Jupiter from the bottom. Power is forgetting