raw

There are no more ways to feed me.

I wrote you the most beautiful bowl of fruit;

but my words were twisted up in

the flames of your

blue-lip fire:

nodding its heads under

their bodies.

Cooking.

Don’t cry.

We are made up of the same piece of sky.

And I can’t leave, you can’t leave,

we’ve tried; and

we’ve tried to mix up our miseries

and we can’t even do that right.

I will look for you

in the crowd of my personalities.

Hold me, hold us, hold, don’t stop.

You are the vast ocean, but I’m every drop.

Swallowing your anger

is an empty pill that

makes me hungry.

brute

I thought I might give it a name.

It was sweet and it played; it was tame.
The West told me, why not? Go ahead.
But the East shook her dazzling head,
and said:

If you give that thing a word,
you’ll teach it hate and fear, I’ve heard.
It tends to hoard and make a lord
of names in cages just like birds.
It’ll think its word is better
than all other ones, I swear.
It’ll label you and know
your label’s different. It’ll care.

I hate to even think – but
it could learn its right from wrong.
Do not name it, please, I beg you.

So, I taught to it a song.

privilege

Sitting, pretty, on the edge of our aphelion,
eating unseen forces like curds and whey.
In goes a galaxy, rolling underneath my tongue,
shrieking and dissolving fast; a tasty display.
Wash it down celestially with pure electron water.
Knife into dark energy, a savory filet.
Suck deep on a sour eclipse and giggle at the stir,
dip candied kings in quasar oil,
you want this one?
I’ll trade.

After we’re full,
we contemplate beginnings and the end;
I’ll fold today like a receipt,
don’t need that in my head.

fruit

Leather and wood in my house;
crunch a crying carrot
amidst the bones and souls
of the once-alive.
Watch my cat
eat a box-elder bug
with a broken leg
even though it crawled on my journal,
which was its way of asking
for help.
Don’t think about the
fingers who stitched together
your t-shirt,
sweltering in the healing sunlight,
forcing their glorious eyes to
quiet. Mercy.
Use death and
death and
death
to animate your ruthless
heart,
and levitate
your peaking breath.

hatch

Your life is an egg.
Push on the colors in your lenses,
just watch;
they’ll crack,
fall like walls.
Everything that’s ever happened to you is yolk,
fluid firming into feathers;
feel them bristle when you see
an especially interesting tree
and know that it’s more real
than you were ever meant to be.
Don’t be afraid.
One day we’ll leave our starless,
sharkless cocoons,
break through
our amniotic rooms
to join
a new parade.

eve

I swallowed a bad wind;
fingernails in my
chalkboard throat.
Made me pale
and impatient;
lined my tongue with soap.
I struggled,
spewing filthy air,
and everywhere
I looked
there were canopies
of fallen trees
and sages burning
books.