Wednesday, August 28, 2019

All My Relations

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

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

when I recognize 
someone I should be more 
like robin the gentle

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
actually feeling
someone inside you
is your heart like a library
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
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 
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

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
we all miss the morning
the candy

what to do  
with the desire to party

peanut butter cup rash
Veruca Salt

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

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
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
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
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
edge like 
the far end of the room
or edge like