in the morning the cat does the thing
like the cop car on the freeway
snaking across lanes and
I’m the cars behind her
In the morning you should
ask the day what it needs
when peoples poems
just list the evils
notes from the other
side of the fence
but
it’s Sunday
I won’t start talking shit yet
in the morning my mom
goes to church
in New Jersey
in the morning
I think of moss
the undercommons
the universitas
it’s not about me
my dad’s marrying
someone from Atlantic City
when I recognize some
girl I go I fucking
know that bitch
all my relations is
such a treat
like a flat spiral
sucker all the moss
sisters
when I recognize
someone I should be more
like robin the gentle
botanist
think of the morning
of your life
it’s probably over
it’s a sucker
someone said
whatever you thought you were gonna be when you grow up
is fake
we watch double dare 2000 on youtube
my camera is covered with tape
we are being watched by my neighbor
his overripe tomatoes
listing the evils
or
actually feeling
someone inside you
is your heart like a library
or
a fruit out of season
my friend was scared of spiders in bananas
my friend found a crow feather in a bag of spinach
why is spinach in a bag
but really why is it in a box
its the type of lonely when
you’re doing a job in a white button down shirt
when you also have long
nails and so many thoughts
lonely like a basement
when I recognize someone I go
mom
she’s the lonely, fearless woman
a manicured wanderer
an entire universe
she’s Tinka, Lucia and Loo-chia
she’s ageless grace
in original costume
exposed veins
she’s a packing peanut
a vampire
a black jack dealer
the lonely, fearless woman
ancountering men
on the path
becoming a pair
by space and time
alone
an accident
she is quiet but
sturdy in her slides
it’s not about me
my second manifesto
second man I've
seconds left to
the path I thought
the Payless
he Popeyes
the path mark
secondly
don’t try to write about PMS
it’s the mug at my old hairstylist
a puffy cage
a root system
the city
the genre
the show
I go I fucking know
this town
the toxic
the sexy
the month
the baby
the eggs and
the dumplings
the night
the heat and
the T
give advice but also
same
we all miss the morning
the candy
what to do
with the desire to party
peanut butter cup rash
Veruca Salt
rolling
the wedding
the motives
are murky
the deed
its done
the shooting
its urgent
stop saying
its murky
paint it in
oil so it
never dries
would you rather
sleep on this panel
or ask the day what it needs
remember
the root system
the radio
the core
if the heart
were a planet
what would the morning
have wanted
a year of eclipses
strung on a necklace
beads on the floor and
the pearls aren’t yours
we say we're not crushing
or fucking foundation
interconnection
remember we die
I remember trying to open to the door for the dog
words turn to stone so
go skip urgent in the river
when you’re done with
the thing
saying urgent so many times
like we have more time
it's throwing the rocks
at our ears
murky motives
erosion
crumple the script
like a cartoon
abolish this routine
abolish these condolences
we are all connected
and It's not an idea
who wants to lead
who wants to harness
who wants to churn
who wants to do it
we have food leftover
at the end of the night
who wants to get the bag
who is going to disperse
who is going to invent a charger
for whats dead
someone said
what you thought you were gonna be when you grow up
doesn’t exist
who is going to sift
fuck mastery
the new job options are
inventor of recharger
recharger of what’s dead
composter of poison
the braider of dread
you can be the day asker
the morning burier
the night juicer
but
the woman in the white shirt
will be worshiped
today my family is the shape of a vase
its not about me
the root system
the death of my cat
I can call my dad and
he will know
this might be the last time
he will understand
in this way,
the bottom of the vase
a traffic jam
if another cat dies
it won’t have ever been his
he will only know the
death and not cat
the wide opening up top
Cucumber eats
rose petals like they’re chips
she loves fresh growth
the way an era
gets compressed
makes me Open the curtains
and take off my pants
posts of
quotes from
Anne Frank
the composter of poison
the paper balls
in the bin
a poem
finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash
my translator said I have a few
options for edge
edge like cliff, edge like
corner
edge like
the far end of the room
or edge like
border
