sunday the student

on the verge of dying for poetry

again, the boring exorcism of hiatus 

looking back at the word bank

all shy

B said some poems just

walk away! 

like children

*

J died 7 years ago, today

a dark autumn night in NY

the hill we climbed 

with the news

*

today is a triangle

with an exclamation point inside

J says

we can't ever do what we want to do

anymore, that's the new secret club

today I go, 

what is a 7 years

a bouquet?

some off lights

reflecting the sun

the triangle with 

the exclamation point

extends,

encrypted

*

last Yom Kippur

I went to services in SF

where I met an old friend 

and her young dad

it was early morning

and the city was

bright gold

later we wrote

what we didn't need

on scraps of paper and

put them in a clear vase of 

tap water

for atonement, 

I brainstorm some pools in the area

*

the blood thing

is really more 

about draining

 

I fainted in the 

process of 

playing cool

they pushed a Kiss 

into my mouth and

squeezed me and

low key 

reprimanded me

the bad quiz on loop 

I can't see my own eyes!

or bite my own teeth

Dear P

I've been so out of touch with myself,

like forgotten how to be curious about my mind...

but last night I slept long and dreamed about a place with cabins:

many divided, yet thematic households on the property

I was performing there, maybe some type of festival

I had some romance with a blank man who was hard to love, because he was blank

a big group of us went for a walk into the dark forest/mountains, on a sort of ridge

beneath us was a rushing river, it got darker and darker as we walked

I wondered if it was fire smoke but it was so easy to breath (mist)

shadowy figures (boys) effortlessly jumping off rocks into the river 

the sight of big, moving water almost brought me to tears

gay

habits are

           bad

           this week

I’m backhanding 
my forehead 

and 
thickening plots 

spying 

  on the
    plume’s return

carrying 

the annual 
    haunting of home

the sad memory
of water &
when she told me
to be like it 
[water]

we’re on the couch 
at the airport hotel
she’s soft, high

she saw heaven

and isn’t scared

for the living

acquired taste 

to the point 

of   no return 

you just

lay there by the juniper

deep 

in the practice of surrender/

while the moon

eclipses

lowercase fear

just like

Together

"we" cuz 

I'm getting bigger

*

if Longing

would shed itself 

like a snake and 

surprise me

...

a long river city 

whose architecture 

reps desire 

and at once 

resolve

her knee highs

her healthcare

...

ʎpɐǝʇs ʞɔoɹ

today the kids made tissue swords 

exerting themselves in the ash

the 3 of them, literary

windswept

the dust bowl

the cul de sac

the boudarylessness of
blessings, curses

talking fences/feeling

nothing       moderate, mega 

in lieu of     stretch in lieu of

cutting

the train assembles

poems slipping and 

sliding the dead friend

with the past tense name

just wanna be at the club

with the mosh pit the

mash up where 

at 3 am 

dystopia 

checks out

skywriting by jane pauley

I cry looking at photos of great grandma Sally

because she's got the eyes

the eyes that are 3000 years old

sitting on the deck with Dad

swarm of crows flying in synch 

vanishes into the fog

Grandma tells me about a time 

Mom painted herself green, put tinfoil 

on her head, and went to the bar

open field with a window

open field with a window

open field with no child

don't call it an episode 

I'm not your TV

my heart isn't actually inside me

it's where they all are

ambrette pipette

cool blue + tie dye = soft sky

looking up from the open box of Kayla's backyard

I see power lines and think sheet music

base + heart + head = the symphony of a perfume

the white planks of that balcony's railing are piano keys

dancing + apples = dappled

the bamboo is the wind section

the sun is soprano

soft sky + full = skull

the clean flat cement might be mezzo

and the wind chime is implied

alphabet soup

the night I sat on the balcony 

watching the moon cross the sky

Jamie’s ghost touched everything in the apartment

turned my pairs of shoes at perpendicular angles

propped up the sheep brain dissection kit

scooted out my desk chair

it was so subtle

I could have done it myself

what's the difference between 

hallucination and metaphor

seeing the story over the story

the world behind the world

I don't want to say too much

but something I can tell you now;

it's a lie 

that nothing rhymes with orange

the buddha quality

of a stuffed animal

how two dots and a line 

make a gracious face

I was sure he was in my bathroom

staring at that tum on the tile floor

and I realized how trauma 

is like schrodinger's cat

the keloided narratives that stay fucked up

for as long as the door is closed

I keep seeing a soft sky full of tiny letters 

like alphabet soup

and the afterimage of a cool blue fairy

pepper's ghost

and there's something extra 

we're elaborating on now

about washer women

gossips and yentas

about twins, togetherness

about the tree and the stone

being damned

the dry lightning storm 
to the north

the moon drama, up

the cold sand, cum
every August
at once

*

AIM apparition--

if it were,
the watering hole

The Wednesday

raised by 
ON, the TV
the basement 

*

rolling on the floor
after hours
for reasons 
the sidewalk
the gum spots
the moon

*

partial to the merch
of my coast
perennials 
garbage 

*

eating around the spinal chords

boundaries embodied 

or

synthetic fences