Sit With Me

you are the best you
I have ever met
the reason I get up-
sleep inertia grew my frown
missed the eclipse today
felt it, nonetheless
it's possible I'll never get around
to what I meant
ironing discrepancies
until my landscape is horizon
see the spires and steeples matter
open the door and see the fingers
gathered
we matter
there is no greater religion
than sit with me
when I can't find the words
it's possible I'll never get around
to what I really mean
I still feel you are near
when alone cushions
when darkness shines
there is no greater need
than sit with me.

Two Weddings

Two weddings this week
neither is mine
would I know how to feel?
beloved, just there
flowers haloing
the only souls who've known us
haloing
would I know how to stand
how to smile like day break


two weddings this week
neither is ours
she asks-
do butterflies have people in their bellies?
They must
where else do all the timid folk fit?




no one will know who I was when I let go
if asked whether and where have I lived
I will answer, affirmative-
fields of purple-gold iridescence
an echo of her hand in mine
waving white flags from garrisons
smiling and marching like heartache
glad to have had the space to say


here is my right now
& all I have to offer
I can't say what it will become
once it is yours,
but here is my right now
& all I have to offer.

Our Wedding Day

On the day I marry you,
I will wake up as I have the days before
as I will the days after
I will want to polish myself clean
so you might see me as the pebbled offering
I am
I will look back at myself in photographs
marvel at the strange formalities
try to recall what I was feeling and remember
in the span of a day,
not much will change.
When you don't know I'm looking,
I will watch the way your lips ride words
When I don't know I'm listening,
I will sigh the syllables which combine our names
I won't need to make a toast or vow,
you already know all the things I cannot say
The most precious things in my life
are only between you and I
The day after our wedding,
I will wake up exactly the same
but I will have done
the impossible
the invisible
the indelible
But then, we already have.

Soon, the mind goes

these crisp green leaves will curl
synapses more tangles than avenues
as the many layers close in to survive
the infantry will kneel; yellowed, red
never to be what they aren't.
temporary, as
starbursts born so gentle in their morning
reaching for the borrowed sky
only to sacrifice each breath
for the branch below
some say you are nothing but rungs for rings
never appreciated until counted
taxed and compared
I say you are the bender that doesn't break
the wind's rush and coo;
the symphony in the forest
guides your pace
the courage in the fall
reminding you to move
while you can.

some time during the night

it's still a little blurry, but I remember
some time, during the night
while the full moon waned warmth
our hands reached for each other
I do not know whose hand moved first
even in the midnight,
when our minds are lost
in fairy tales and ghost stories
our fingers
on instinct
know home

you said you dreamed of seeing me from a distance

that I appeared happy

it was your way of saying you were letting me go

it was my way of hearing you had given up

you can't blame everything on a dream 

To the Stray I Named August

you appeared one day
lurking near the abandoned house
a ghost of better times
when someone had extra scraps
or patience enough to tame you
still, there you are, as loyal as loss
if you ever saunter near
I'd like the story of your mangled ear
to hear your sneer-
should've seen the other guy
some days I think you're waiting
for someone to buy the place
fix it up, welcome you
the front door king
most days I see you watching
waiting for all of us
to move away.

सूर्योदय

on the day he was born
I recognized him

from his previous self 

I was not enough
life had desperately 
multiplied
    crawled into my lap
         bounced on my shoulders
               was been born to run from me:
into the arms of the universe.
life pulled, dug, ripped
for my growth
pointed me in all directions

we are transposed
I am the wide-eyed newborn,
startle response high,
rooting reflex rigid
he is the old man sage
one question tapping the pulse
another question
holding starlight together
just long enough
to ask for this dance

Dreamers Unmatched

it is not something that happens to us
we do not follow a well-worn path
we go from dark to day to dust
trying to make sense in the aftermath


there are no breadcrumbs to pursue
nor are there strings attached
we are the thinkers who do
and the dreamers unmatched

The Lost

a spun top
he does not fall
lives in the land of tilt
the brightest crayon in the box
but can't find his way out
they say he is like this
wild eyes can't connect
can't scream loud enough
for anyone to hear
a child who has never said
mommy
daddy
I want, I need, please
he is rocking now
they wring their hands
what shall we do
we've done everything
what will he become
is this all he will know
what is he thinking
does he think
he loves the smell of books
addicted to the turn of the page
he knows something is there
we know something is there
but how do we get to it-

Said Thank You

it was a mistake he made
said thank you
when he gave something away
his father stared down, frowned
nothing much has changed
as a man himself
he gives condolences on birthday cards
for all the days that can't be lived again
he sends congratulations to pall bearers
to celebrate the love that was found
he still says thank you when he gives
grateful to have something to share

poetry didn't save my life

poetry didn't save my life
didn't make me a better person
didn't get me a job
raise or promotion
poetry was just a language
The language of my emotion
it was just a way to communicate
with my edges
dance recklessly in the corner
with partners that weren't altogether
composed
poetry didn't save my life
it asked where I wanted to go
how far, how deep
then took me there

It's Been Too Long Since

it's been too long since
I've watered this
-remember the night I left promises on your Euclidean lips
the corner pockets where I englished my lip's kiss
you weren't threatened by the ferrule's hiss
here goes the detriment of centuries
our souls are the filament of memories
though I meant lasting pleasantries
we go vacant as haunting melodies
as wet
we met
with a stumble and crush
crush and stumble
yet
I don't regret
the hush and tumble
tumble and hush

Ferguson

Have you seen?
there is a crack in the liberty bell
from the first time it tried to ring
& all the king's horses
& all the king's men
couldn't make it whole again


the question has always been
100 killed in another country
10 in our home town
or 1 in our family
it will only change
when anyone is someone to everyone

Religion of the Atoms

there's a reason why we met

dawn declares to the faded starlight

there's a place where we overlap

find me there

;says the torah to the quran to the bible

there's a reason why we live and why we die

we don't need to know why
to know

it is so

find me there

I am not lost to you

even before we met,

the atoms in my body joined with yours

it was an ancient supernova

;I remember your dust

the way it taught me to breathe

to be thankful for each breath

we are not promised another

you know
as well as I

it is ours now. 

Monday

seven tongues
only one I taste
bitterroot to all else
tuck me in that sunrise
fall down my beautiful
here is the key
it is tracing patterns as you sleep
unlocking the person
you have always been
I have seen this,
in all the sweet places of the day
our moon
changing with our eyes added,
moving only when we look away
it was never something over there
we bring the heavens down to us
each time
we remember to look up

Dear EPA v2

I'm sorry about the sea otters
I didn't think a petition would do very much, really
I'm sorry I made all those copies of Nicolas Cage
and spread them around the office like ebola
it was funny
it wasn't worth the soul of a tree
but for a moment we all laughed
and forgot about the sea otters


it's probably hopeless anyway
everyone in my office has seen a Nick Cage movie
but no one could really tell a sea otter
from a walrus
we're already deciding how humanity will be remembered
in the humans
in the celebrity of kitsch and trite
in the refuse
I just keep wondering
if an otter would sign to save me
but that's silly, they can't hold a pen
if they could, we'd let them star in all of our movies and afterthoughts
but that's silly, they can't even type their name
they don't even have names
do they-
if they did they wouldn't need a petition
if only the trees & otters were a little more human
we might recognize them as ours

my love, you've undone me

my love, you've undone me
a waste of space for any other
now
and how
I was a dusty old tune,
always thinking I was only three chords
alongside a rusty poem
the trick of any good cover, you've made me
laid me open
blowing across my rim for the hum rumble
of the contents below
I am not content below
you've undone me for any other
the lines you've added,
like the sheet marks on my skin-
I woke up, ran out to get them tattooed in-
to stitch myself between sleep
and your arms leaving me for the day
I am not the same
song
always thinking I was little more
than a whistle stop for heart-ache
my boats road yours
now they're tapping happy
now I am done for
cannot be content with
less than our voices sighing each other's name
like it is the only tune we know
the only song we need

Evolution

waking up from my backseat nap
angel-hair skewed and sweaty
dad driving, mom looking at the country
or at nothing
where are we going?
they don't respond or even look my way
rubbing my eyes, I try again
my sister looks at me with pouty irritation
where are we going?
she pretends she knows,
I know she doesn't
we pass other drivers on the road
some have my expression
most just keep driving
or looking at the country
or at the person next to them
or at nothing

Ladies' Night

For the time I invited you to ladies' night
even though I knew you were transitioning
I assumed you were genderqueer
I thought you still considered yourself a lesbian-
I know I'm part of the reason you left
you know why I still never call


For the time you told me you just wanted to end the pain
I didn't know that meant
you couldn't be a woman anymore
I wasn't sure which parts you were leaving
I thought we were still the same
see, I figured you just want to be invited


I'm sorry I called it ladies' night
I promise it had more to do with the gender of the alcohol
than what was between any of our legs
or in any of our hearts
I'm glad you are happy there
I'm so glad you're not in this dark place anymore
I know I'm part of the reason you left
you know why I still never call


I promise it has more to do with an apology I can't say
than with one I think you are still waiting to hear.

We Are The Bells

the artist inspires the artist inspires the artist inspires
the first painting we all saw
was sunrise, dipped honey long & slow
we wanted to ride that
to tame that to our spine and go hard
the first song we heard
was rainfall, baby fat sloppy & quick
then came the lightening
then came the thunder
and oh man, we were done with
we were so in love with
the bowl above us
holding us
vacant
kaleidoscoping, vibrating, swinging low
and oh man,
the best lovestory we've ever tasted
was between the sheets
of earth and sky

Do We?

Do We?

hope isn't in the facts on these pages

it's in the smile on the faces of these sages

the preschooler who doesn't know who is in his family

eviction notices on his doorstep since the day he was born

love can't live here anymore

barely a teenager she had her uncle's son

her mama looked on

as they took her grandson away

she asked-

why do you want to keep your baby, baby?

everything will leave you anyway.

hope isn't in the facts on these pages

it's in the smile on the faces of these sages

they called him The Fighter

scars lined his young face: wrinkles for skin too lived in

anyone who really looked could see-

he was only trying to be.

they called him The Fighter, but his grin was wide

at the sight of the first cake bought just for him

they called him The Fighter

I think they were right.

hope isn't in the facts on these pages

it's in the smile on the faces of these sages

these refugees are everywhere

holding a new foster mom's hand

a grasping asking- will this one be nice?

will this one be home?

the hunger doesn't go

we have all wondered if we would be missed

families cracked, broken, scattered

leaving us alone on special days

wondering where we belong

wondering if we mattered

do we?

Say This or That From Night to Day

the hardest apology to accept
is the one that you will never get
the easiest thing might be
to give a reflexed apology
and yet it does seem
it is the hardest thing to mean.


say this or that from night to day
it is what you do, not what you say
that will convince me
you believe your apology.

Durango

Small migrants stretching their feet far

Father is driftwood 

drowning down a diluted flag

He cannot hold them safe

What would you do?

They skinned his childhood

Put a gun in his hand

Kill or die, kid

And he did

They tell me

There are no victims here

All I see are tombstones 

ticking for exoneration dates

Mama's lullaby echoes

Don't Look Back.

They sold her young

The price too low for the foal

Just another girl

To be stuffed into the mattress

To be shoved into the wall

There is no better gauge

than by how we grow the little children

Joule

maybe we dream in the 4th dimension
I know too many who cannot dream
fireworks to celebrate soldiers
who can't stop hearing them
look at the birds scatter like shrapnel
I don't know what it is we are celebrating
it is not peace
I never thought you could be so pink
so yellow
I shouldn't have told him you'd be there
boys aren't as resilient as we need them to be
dress them in uniforms and put them out
on his right is disappointment
his left is surrender
I have not given him enough armor
I'll never know which is sadder
circumstance or his acceptance
there is no equation for sadness
in the 4th, on the 4th
silence would have erupted
a quantum plunge into possible
when we grow stronger than our weapons
when we don't need anyone to protect us

that's when we will meet again.

Buy Her Okra, If You Can

the rusted live bait sign
creaking in the breeze
a flag from a forgotten country
the lean of a woman
buy her okra, if you can
tomatoes peaches honeydew
she will laugh you a recipe
like thank you
Half smile grin
stroke's souvenir
a vacation she didn't plan
all alone now, (but for the wind-singing sign)
how she loves her dusty town
her landless garden
the whiskers on her chin will tickle
hug her, if you can
she will feel newborn weak
a foal for the breaking
but you'll know by her knuckles
she is holding on hard

coup de foudre

we laid pennies on tracks with our fat kid fingers
isaacs for our abraham; my heart was always something like this


watermelon juice foamed on his chin, his eyes wild and rabid
this is why today I still do not care for the taste


when night holds me, covers me, invades me
I am always ripely spread and bee-tickles frightened


my heart was always something like this

Répétez

Oui, je veux apprendre
répétez après moi
oui, je veux apprendre avec tu
the slide of your neck
it is a sound we once heard from the stage
scène,
théâtre,
étape,  

no, nous ne répétant pas ce
est-ce quelque chose marat se mourrait pour?
se battrait pour
pourquoi piaf buvait seul
shirley, our sweetheart, ribboned and gifted
we worship our one dimensional celebrity
teach me piaf's vibrato
marat's bravado
dire à moi en français, léché d la langue sur les dents

tanka

this is how I melt
the boy's little hand in yours
a kiss after a night
not nearly ever enough
your happy sigh coming home


two trees by my house
lovers since the dawn of time
branches brush like hair
one whispers let me see you
the other giggles leaves

Poem

you can't say the word poem
in a poem
it's just not poetic
it's a hammer to the marbled façade;
scissors to mystery's veil
it's a clear and vulgar warcry
just say what you need to say
what you can't hold in
but not outline the box where it lives


you said I was your favorite poet
so I found you some sandburg,
made sure you'd met cummings and poe
like penguined pebbles
I've not been following a recipe,
or expecting your receipt
I saw a mother biking the city with her babe
fresh and wide-eyed with the blueday,
her charge was sweet as well
but I saw you in her place
poems are just another path
to get out what I can't give direct
it's what happens to snowfall in summertime
the notes on a broken string
it's just not the right season to say
so I sigh,
slide it here instead
under tomorrow's closed door

If Our Love Were An Estate Sale

if our love were an estate sale
canyons would form in the foreheads of collectors
their perplexed expressions
would interrogate each of our rooms
each doorway would welcome
with peppermints and tangented buttons
to everyone else: discs of meaninglessness
relatives would try to make sense of us
find postcards we never got around to sending
from places we always travelled alone together
breathless hikes through every color imaginable
horizontal flight in a field without a name
(surely, along with my body,
they have named each other)
the dragon-footed bathtub would be broken and filled
with charcoal remnants of a thousand journals
each one as a star blinking out of time
the furniture men would search with rumors
of a historic bed and a globed couch
they would sulk furiously empty
confused by the rubbish and tatters they found
we don't take pictures of tuesday cuddles
or thursday morning love notes
& I'll never get around to making a mix tape
of the sound of the storm
as it collides with your chest song
it won't matter...
in the slow hour of our love,
we will have laced hands everywhere
kept trinkets only to smash them with 9-irons
the only antique would be
the cardboard cut out of my life
before you walked in
if our love were an estate sale
there wouldn't be anything left to find
we would have lived it all away

Worth Falling Into

I’ve suffered your storms complete

I’ve wintered your winters, true;

and all I hoped to be

was someone worth falling into.

you are steel and stone

you are lost and home
though naked legs crossed,

stalls my wanderlust's roam
there remains a together
we cannot be
through all seasons: you are you
and I am me.
still I'd rather suffer your storms
and wage your rage true
than walk away thinking
I'd be better without you.

Taren

added to the list of this I did not know

There is a country called Kazakhstan

Bigger than France, Spain, Germany

et cetera

combined

it is 4x the size of Texas

 

subtracted from the list of this I know too well

her smell

the sound of my name in her mouth

soon. she will never fill my eyes

again.

already. the fog between us

is a barbed fence of fare-thee-well

trilled softly through gulps of air

that we are done does not ease

the friend she's been to me

she will only be a state away

they say

they do not know that our states

are not mappable

cannot be trekked again

our last meal shared and I cannot swallow

there is a knot growing that is bigger

than I am

that is 4x the size of Texas

Mecca

the night we met the prophet Muhammad
and contemplated Jesus of the black-foot,
Beverly kissed our shoulders reckless
so we swan dove into parking lot cavalcades
the silent dare passing between our mouths
remember how summer woke us
so I held ice cubes on my lips
and tried to kiss you cold-
I'd like to blame Muhammad's drinks
staying to hear about sand dunes and evil eyes
but nothing could waste me more
than you
just you
this morning something has shifted
you've been pulling this out of me with each glance
needle pricks as your tongue clicks
have sewn this
love,
when you look for me, I am not there
when you least expect it, I am everywhere
what am I-
there are parts of this world I will never see
prophets and diners that will pass unknown
but for this moment as morning songs sweep over me
I have lived it all.

1st Erotica

called down to the dinner table

my lyrics laid a blanched offense

another meal violated 

without permission,
the buds of my nipples indurate

my racy words: discharged filth
blushing to turn myself on
mother told me what I was

& at my blue rare age

this embarrassing derision lasts
flavors each diphthong
raunch


yet what happens when
supple flesh meets plosive curve
taught muscle to dehiscence
the way she plays my keys
never less of a reason to read
ringent need answered
in fricative clicks
these are not dirty things
only where words meet
and my skin breathes

Between Mother & Father's Day

my father was born broken
didn't know his cracked heart
was only surface friendly
and shattered spaces indeep
he thought my mother was glue
the kind you roll on your fingers
wait and watch to stick
the cheap and pliable kind
it's true, she tried
but my mother was born reflection
with nothing on the other side
was only surface shine
and echoing spaces indeep


I am not glue to mirrors
I am not the other way either
I have only been reciting my favored phrase
I am not them
I am nothing more.

Charles Bonnet Syndrome

the night we never slept
i mulled
the images the blind might dream
your neck clipped my lips
what is color to cadaverous eyes-
it is this.
sleep was never so futile
yes, swung the answer
we dream in images
I still held the full moon
somehow she'd grown dusty
grown different
but in fact,
she'd always been powder
and providence
as I'd been ricochet
and imprudence
awake, still we woke to bedshake
or is it all a dream we share
and the earthquake
was my silent prayer
cuss of another time ahead
this is how I dream of us
in images I've never known
colors vivid and new
but mostly
in braille for eyelids
each kiss a syllable of yes
but mostly
in wait and see
in clasp the non sense.

Mimosa pudica

one month after my eighth year,
wang weilin stood his ground
every evening,
I face tanks of my own
looking into the night sky I know
most stars are binary
spinning around a common mass
this is romance
our single sun can only say
love yourself
the rest is a mess

On The Night I Fell In Love With You

on the night I fell in love with you
I stood on a stage and lost every word
the paper in my hand shook
like Shechtman's quasicrystals
like Rabin and Arafat in 93
and the foundations of their city
every year after
no one warned me about this
that I'd try to deliver my lines
(as I had countless times) and fail
that your soft shoulder would cave me
drill me down into my better self
grow me stronger, keep me speechless
no one stepped in to explain
that I wouldn't be able to concentrate
on anything except writing your name
if anyone would've mentioned that this blue marble
(which has been shot putted tangentially
into a lonely corner
looping a single star)
has been withholding you for 27 turns,
I would've lost my mind trying to find you
all the sooner to fall headlong into oblivion
on the night I fell in love with you
it was all I could do to ask you for a walk
away from the crowd and into graveyard storms
to climb with me into trees and metaphors
feel the gasping, pulsing comfort of woven arms
and listen to the branches of my silence
if someone had told me that you would acquiesce,
and even match my awkward gait
I would have told them wars don't end with hand-shakes
but with confidence as unshakable as Shechtman's
and also, my balance, that falling is only the beginning to being

Skin & Shrapnel

we both wanted to be so man-overboard
that we actually believed the things we said
I knew I was just your favorite phrase
embroidered on your pincushion heart
& I should've told you in the beginning-
I'm not such a nice girl & no one's forever
I get bored with the cheesecake sweet
almost believing make-up sex is worth it
but the busted beer bottle bad in bed
couldn't drown out the echo of the sorry
we both felt but couldn't say
my face was buried in your sigh
your legs were wrapped around my shrug
maybe there was a subtler way for us to end
than the shards of skin & shrapnel we became
you said soon I'll hardly be your anything
in such a way you thought it would hurt
maybe if I were any kind of nice girl
it would.
it's taken all this time to bare the truth
we both fell more for the story
than for each other.

How To Begin

because I'd rather bend google toward answering
the difference between falling in love and loving
than
the difference between puppets running for office
although I know equally little about both
and less and less each day
because I'd rather fail with watercolor
than succeed with 10-key and shorthand
I am only the secretary to the wonder of the now
not made to bend with polite questioning
ready to storm the castle or tourist the moat
at the first offered hand
because you end up in every pinnacle of my thoughts
and remain long after I have laid them all out
stitched single-file and alphabetical
because they said I should never say I and or because
because neuroscientists and shamans frown alike
brain-cells and spirits are prone to disintegrate
each time I tip my mug
because sometimes I just want to be fucked raw
match the external to the internal scream
quiet the indoor voices to match the outer orbits
which take so many headphones to hear
because I'm not done yet
but I'm still not sure how to begin.

Born Yesterday

may you be born yesterday

and tomorrow

and today

may you die a small death

every night

may you wake naïve

with troubles forgotten

with a taste of gratitude

to be given a body of air

a new start for your journey

may you lay your head

sun-heavy; no task uncompleted

knowing you spent each moment

making hard decisions gracefully

pushing yourself further

to love unafraid of consequence

not clinging to what may come

or has already past-

grateful to have travelled here at all.

may you die every night

and be reborn every day

may we all.

The Taste of Our Pace

this is not the story of us

a fish                     a bird

       f                   r

         e             o

           l         f

               l             

and worship made

a meal of him

little spaces with you

& the world stops

we become all to each other

I am the flow

of our stream

you are the tide

of our shore

& together we make canyons

from mountains

we could not move

Pier Fishing With Dynamite

they say everyone’s got secrets

well, I guess his origin is mine

don’t think I’m ashamed

it’s just a lot to say

they don’t have scripts

for this sort of thing

& truth is always easier

when it's someone else's

mostly I'm still stunned

by his quick miracle

that a man gave me my son

then walked out

& doesn't even know

that my ex-girl

gets visitation

what do I tell him she is?

have you read it?

the wise-man says

    “if it’s messy, eat over the sink.”

so no, I’m not ashamed

I know life isn’t always

cut and paste

sometimes it’s tear and erase

When You Walked In

to see your smile just for me now

& though you said you could never

somehow we both already have

the breeze ruffling your hair

our nearness catching me off guard

the brush and touch

of skin

to skin

like oh, hello

I didn’t know

you were there

and when can I see you again?

when can I taste your fingertips

and entwine them

under mine?

I had something to tell you

but other ears were listening in

sometimes, even in our own lives,

we can’t really live

I wanted to catch up

and say something clever

hope you'd fall for my wit

somehow cloud my expression

which sighs: each day with you

a feeling grows stronger 

that I don't want to spend another

without you.

missing you becomes cavernous

ridiculous

& though I never wanted this

somehow I was meant to

I’m wondering what would you think?

what are you thinking,

doing, seeing

when I am not near you

and when I am that careful distance

between close & not close enough

the thirst aches comfortable

it's all I need

to watch your hushed cup fill

empty

fill

Arrow

it seems

at least to me

always is too long

and forever is just a metaphor

for some time you’ve got right now

why does she need promises

why cant she leave

well enough

alone?

lingua est amo (it is the language of love)

un giorno
io sara ti mangimi con un cucchiaio
limoncello in sorrento
solo per assaggiare l'asprezza
sulla tua lingua
gusto come ti degustare
alla fine
vado a oscillare dolcemente con ti nella baia
vicino cinque terre
così possiamo cullare noi stessi senza tempo
faremo tutte queste cose
e tanto altro ancora

un jour
je vais marcher avec tu
dans les petites ruelles de carcassonne
tu serez mon château
je serai votre air de la montagne
saveur délicatement
avec la récolte d'automne
nous allons faire toutes ces choses
et bien d'autres
pour les moment est notre temps




someday
I'm going to feed you limonchello in sorrento
just to taste the bitterness
on your tongue
taste as you taste
eventually
I'm going to swing gently with you in the bay
near cinque terre
so we can lull ourselves timeless
we will do all these things
and much more
one day
I'll walk with you
in the narrow streets of carcassonne
you will be my castle
I will be your mountain air
delicately flavored
with the autumn harvest
we will do all these things
and many others
for now is our time

Quién sabe?

that's what I meant,
when I said you were beautiful
you stand apart
someday your fire will fade
may you find your way to this
then
think of the bullen discontinuity
think of the exosphere
you are everything between
I see them get at you
siphoning joy
pigeonholing your theories
as they do their own
that soft-center that I know so well
will curl on itself and plummet
anvil-heavy mid soar
it's not about you, bract
it never was
you are the milky way in a mustard seed
undiluted potential undulating aware
some aren't strong enough to hold facts
only while they're true
they've forgotten
we are all vaulting on our best guesses
you stand apart
knowing that truth is relative
you have aroused me by becoming,
by dancing on the fact
we can't all wake up
if we let anyone
keep us asleep

We Blaspheme Everytime We Say It

I had visions of your landing

falling down in a Jesus descent

you'd touch all the broken in me

& I'd be healed

in my visions your name was Katie,

your hair was dragon-breath licked,

I thought I knew your side smile

better than I know my own reflection

though,

I'd never seen it

You didn't come as Katie

as Jesus

You came in the backdoor,

kicked off mudboots,

made yourself at home.

I am not healed 

You've touched every cabinet in me

and called it like it is,

claimed my broken as scripture

my lost as poetic

Tonight I called someone I tried so long to hate

I sucked out my venom 

bandaged as best I could

and will sleep soundly 

on that good-night to you.

love is not a word

it is an eviction notice for harm

it is a call to be more than good intentions

it is a promise so sacred

that we blaspheme every time we say it

I won't tell you about the call

about all the ways I'm changing

that I'm becoming more myself

when you are around

love is not a to-do list

cannot be checked off 

it isn't calling you another's name,

thinking you'd look better ginger,

or comparing you to any one thing 

I have known before

it is knowing each of your side smiles

as a miracle

it is feeling my broken as scripture

staring into my rambling starting point

and simply 

doing right by you.

newton was a romantic

look at his 2nd law
for proof
the closer two objects,
the stronger their attraction
I have been falling toward her
since I branched off my family tree
I have been a wanderlust apple
tested by thermodynamics
and found wanting,
weighted with lack
avoiding close and near
his 1st law,
the conservation of energy
predicted my wait.
this vacancy has been hers
this awakening is not what I thought
it'd be
is it possible to ever care
and not be terrified?
as we approach the 3rd law
I am prostrate, open, humbled
newton's triptych is climactic
1patience 2intimacy 3zero, absolutely zero
he knew;
I have always been falling toward her
entropically

to: Myself

whispering I wanted to be hers
she volleyed: I belong to myself
this is a pattern I cannot repeat
so, we laid in a field under a starless sky
the color between azure and ochre
our timid tongues reaching
the edge of our vocabulary
we made love like the world
was beginning and ending
all at once
all in the arch of her yesnow
what we did should've been illegal
actually,
it probably is


I never meant to cage her
stop her from pursuing herself
I only wanted to spin her
as she's spun me
kissed down into my throat
clichéd my heartbeat into wholly:
to the exclusion of all else
passionate errors I've made: forgiven
trust that I'd ever find her: healed
like we were beginning and ending
all at once
all in the beg of my yesnow
this pattern doesn't need to repeat
I do, it's true, belong to myself
it isn't too late to reverse this,
to manage my careful drummer home


actually,
it probably is

Collective History

our collective history
built between eons of breadwinners
and backbreak
written in moments of stillness
to remember
struggle
has never dripped your sweet name
never gathered your filament kiss
my skin has frantically announced
with poor penmanship
that this is a travesty
my sighs do little to explain
history is made by winners
your frame on mine is not a game
is not a struggle
the story of us will blink out
far sooner than communism
in theory, I have some type of reason
in truth, the story of us
was built without trying
it evolved like flight
like flowers
purposeless and necessary
it will fade into the universe's reason
without trying
we've come to this conclusion:
the epoch of humanity, of existence
is happening in our brief gaze
at each other

Detailed Privacy

writing sideways on feathered lines
much more than you will hear
if it's no now
it was never yes
now
come find me, I am not hiding
I am picnic pretty, prepared
for olive salads and mayonnaise stains
dappled and depleted sundress yellow
this is not the color
of next time
go into the public space
so that I may steal you away
they are embarrassing
high-waters & flood laughs
I am your detailed privacy
the walls of your breath
which echo alone, alone
safely alone,
come find me there.

Elephantal Humans

eugene asked why I liked women
I should have said hectocotylus that's why
invertebrate hypodermic insemination
duck sex with screwdriving gangbangs
that's why
but that's not what I said
elephants are matriarchal
built with chastity-belt shaped penis-clits
it's true, penis-clits
for the drum-footed and giant-hearted,
their consent is holy, is sexy, is built-in
my dark friend from cameroon
thinks lesbian sex is practice
likes his girlfriend to kiss girls
but not other men, so I said
Eugene, I just like elephantal humans.
more often than not,
their earthsuits are female
just as the packages you prefer
that's why
but when your girlfriend prefers other lips
to yours
her yes is holy,
her kiss is never practice.


*This poem has also been posted here: http://exfic.wordpress.com/2014/06/13/elephantal-humans-by-laura-taylor/?preview=true&preview_id=219&preview_nonce=45e95c92f1&post_format=standard
Special thanks to the folks at EXFIC.

Uziel Bermoy

the day uziel died
there was silence
so deep
no one knew what to say
we wanted to believe
there was a plan
but Cheryl's baby
slipped out
in a silly jaunt to the store
uziel isn't alone
in the purposelessness
of death,
the bad-timing of good-bye,
with silence so heavy
we are all waiting
for the reason why.

Tomorrow Never Comes

To me, it's like this.
science is another word for magic

she is the paid-for-whore
willing to bend or stretch

if you hold her just right

less grotesque in that
she does it all eagerly

whether or not you
are there to see

life is consciousness

in the spiraling black hole 

a shadow song from an oubliette

a sudden and forced forget

hopes are tears on colored ink:

Jesus-blue & Vishnu-green bleed
together
running in mud 

idols whose purposes glide

while psalms are dutifully sung.
lemmings for the dip!
religion is flawed-

only despair has need for god

there is no meaning
but the one you lend

no kind or evil but a concept

faith exists
in the moments before sleep

when tomorrow is a promise
the universe will keep

but tomorrow never comes

in the protestant lips
of sunrise and sunset,

time is the mouth of now 

question is the sigh of why

reason is the breath of yes. 

Frankenstein's Monster

this frankenstein message
is stitched with decomposed past tense
to infant present participle
don't mistake it for health
it's zombie gait is thirsty
for some way to find the words
that you need to say
that it needs to hear
tell it, awkward or not
the sadsong lullabyes
should grow to be an illfit
that it may not be swan lake,
but that the ostrich dive
will not help
there will always be burning pitchforks
in it's mind
there is only one path down the mountain
coo softly, woo sweetly
it will shake the monster flakes
and be the thing
that beauty born beautiful
could never be

If Everyday Were Monday

if everyday were monday,
the one petal of the week
where our arms lace
we'd never see tuesday mornings
when the trash truck sounds
like khaleesi's dragons
looking through this window
trying to ask a question without words,
monday has turned into night
and we may only be two ships
dodging harbors
I am resigned-
heaven's last name is hell
the flower of our time
has been built by
stems of before-we-met
leaves of leaving
yet the color of our kiss
is where you and I blend,
and has grown
in the brief season
of a trend.

Unique to American Geoscience

deconstruct our face into modern hieroglyphs
cave paintings for steel trains
the veins of an incendicite continent
useless but for questing
make it our face,
we know what the search is
the rock crush creating painite
eventually
both portlands are arms stretched
democracy sternum ready
but like any word or truth,
staring too long creates dilution; delusion
both portlands are arms stretched
and we
are the face.

Glamour

let me age like sophia loren
like audrey hepburn
like a slow burn
let me go down gracefully
remembered for the black and white
upheld in technicolor
better for who I am than who I've been
I was always the supporting role for you
acting opposite the star
I'm alright with that,
we seldom
star in our own lives
I won't mind, picking up your lines
as you drop them on another
let me age like rita hayworth
as gilda, cooing and wooing with mame
not like her actual fade:
pickled in an alzheimer's haze
let me age like katherine hepburn
when she brought up baby
not like the downhill fold she lived,
a megalith's grit strummed to vibrate
no, let me age like sophia loren
like audrey hepburn
it's been hard to learn
but all I want
is a slow burn

Fractals

the feminine has crocheted and thus invalidated
euclid's parallel postulate
einstein is grinning into his veggieburger
somewhere
two sisters only ever meant to say
the coral is bleaching, crying, dying
they only meant to stitch the sad fact:
even mathematicians cannot describe
infinity

marie

the only word I know in Nigerian
is the rhythm of the heartbeat
the language of her skill
remains incomplete
how she undoes me, I do not know
perhaps it is the wit she webs
I am her careful cricket brought down
the measure of her charm ebbs
into a dal segno al fine crown


how she undoes me, I do not know
yet this careful ostinato trills
how undone
I am.

elle était si...

she was a soul-renewing gift from the universe

straight to my earth-bound existence.

she was a newly-hatched maggot

writhing beneath my skin

in only the most delicate places,

devouring & souring within 

she was unexplainable. 

pen to paper conjures only shadows

only shade of the space she made

she came in like hunger & stayed

regardless of the food I am fed, 

she will not fade

she came in like mist & I blame her rain

regardless of the flood I gain

she will not wane

she was better from a distance.

she was the sound of a pussy's purr

the mystery behind it;

of slick red nails screaming into slate

& the desperate need for it to end.

she was gone before I was ready

she left an empty echo which whispers mostly

that I never knew her at all. 

I want to grow old with you 9/17/12

I want to grow old with you
& by that I mean,
3 years from now
the crackle & pop of our argument
will confuse igniting with extinguishing
you as beloved,
may you find solace in this phrase:
    I am not perfect,
    but I am growing.
Sometimes crooked from want
    of fair-weather & starshine
Sometimes straight from want
    of metacognition & dark matter
I am not perfect, but I am yours.
if I can know your misstep
your sideways trot and up-down-up canter
if it shall ever come to sound as my own,
we will get our natural gait
even 30 years hence
when I am cussing & spitting
& have forgotten this backseat poem
which I am trying to kiss into the inseam of your lip
& moreover after much under
I will remember- you are not perfect,
but you are growing
not to meet my fantasy
not like a childhood snowman
to consistently melt once the Oklahoman perogative sweeps in
you are growing like perspiration during a race I'll never win
I may not even finish
like it's mid-July & I cannot breathe
but if I could, I'd scream
for the sloven distraction
of winter's wild
you are real
as the vacant air that encircles me
(which I hardly notice)
as the taste of the temperature from your distance
(which I do)
& together we are strange
we are unorganized
like thriftstore silverware
like white hands clapping in a southern baptist church
but when we meet the beat,
when we are useful and wise,
it is a reason to believe in miracles
the purpose of building all that wonder
I see the hanging gardens of babylon in your focused gaze
I feel the colossus of rhodes in your mediated touch
someday I want the wrinkles of my hand
to invade into yours from clasping
the anchor of us too tight
may you find solace in this phrase-
the day will come when I will release you
our beauty & passion are youthful joys
may it be the same day, same hour, same moment
when you find no need for this backseat poem
may the embers of lust & interest spark slowly
like a memory changed
chained from then to now, from now to
growing crooked from want of fair-weather & starshine
growing straight by a choice of watering
the love in each other.

Graffiti

you should know I kept writing

though you begged me to stop

said we weren't doing anything

except digging daggers down deeper

except watering & widening winter's wounds

& I knew, as I usually do, that you were right

I wrote 

anyway

I had to keep penning the SOS with each heartbeat

it wasn't in me to stop

it would've been worse if I had

I knitted you too well to me,

cross-hatched bone to bone

I wrote you in my eyes opening each day knowing they wouldn't rest on you;

in the long lonely walks beneath the spectrum of autumn branches;

in the many meals that had lost all flavor;

in my hunger to never eat again.

I tagged your name everywhere

and added 

some bridges were meant to burn

others should never have been built. 

Weary

I know why my mother moved so slowly,
why my father stayed down when he sat
there is a weary ache in my bones
which sleep fails to appease
it's the hollow of something missing:
youth, or hope, or time
I sometimes feel I am becoming ghostly
before my body has even gone
I sometimes feel my spinning stop
the fertile energy which rotates this space
settles at my side
she relocates her turn into a yearn to
Remember?
Remember.

Circleskirt

she has hips
that could birth a religion
the kind of layers
you'd need a rosetta stone to decipher
on the day she was born,
she was regarded as less
than a charcoal lump of disappointment
the world has not been clever enough
to erect monuments in her honor
most days you can still see
the cracks in her skin where starshine
is draining out
it's only been seven years
since the last time she tried to die
to prove, they were all right
but I see her
she has the kind of hips
that were made for riding love hard
the kind of backbone built
to prove, they were all wrong
on the day she was born,
there was no welcome mat
there was only daybreak
which has tried to break her
and has failed

Tempus Edax Rerum

I used to be a beauty
you wouldn't believe it, to look at me now
I used to be cathedral holy,
before I refurbished this jesus-house
women in my world cannibalized self/other
trying to become something beautiful
the female of our species knows how to be sexy:
cut, curl, diet, burn, bleach, pin & cover
until bile is all that we taste from meals missed and forced down
until we can't even remember our natural hair color
I am not made of rock candy
I was not made to market my funny face
I wouldn't have it any other way
my reflection used to be a quick and embarrassed stranger
until I learned the courtship waltz
of my own full-grown principles
whoever I thought I was dying to attract
could never fill the void
which loving myself has.

NPR

Rethinking every word but standing thick while questioning:
I'm worried because NPR keeps asking for money
like I'm the only one listening
and I'm broke.


I'm worried because I think most people finally fall in love only
when they're losing someone.
At least it's true for me, so I leave a little more every day
as I scream into the loud sound of your silence
your addictive elocution: exquisite
I've never missed the shape of your voice as much
as when it is not on the round-about of my neck
I've said too much
All I meant is here-
time is kinder, softer, sweeter
with you near.


I didn't tell you that I wouldn't mind hiding in your pockets
the soft crevices of your spine
marinating in the words of a book written in a language
that I will never master
even now, my tongue wanders the chapel of my mouth
as a caged bird
rolling each syllable around as wildfire rain
I wanted to be carried around and sprinkle buttercup kisses
on your Everywhere
carried only
until you are ready to let go.
I didn't tell you that I wouldn't mind being
the one you leave.


I still listen to NPR even if I'm the only one.
I like to think the folks there don't mind
speaking into the void
that getting by
matters more than money
that there are things that must be said
even & especially when no one is listening

Royster Bryant Taylor the 3rd

five years ago
I stopped calling my dad
it was his punishment
for being too old to make the mistakes
he kept making
after all, he's the one that taught me
this is what families do
we do not stay to heal what has broken


yesterday I kissed a girl
whose girlfriend did not know
I thought I was too old to make the mistakes
I keep making
so here is where I run
unintentionally bleeding watercolors
and character being the stain after the fade
I cannot blame my father for this


but maybe
he deserves a call

The Color of Sound

I actually thought
ben harper was white
that both jack johnson & tom waits
were black
that sound came in color
as a child I thought
being in love
was like a piñata explosion
bursting with a sunset ride
with the prizes of life
trailing shortly behind
until that awkward age when
growing up was no longer fun,
I wanted to think there was still a knight for me
a fairy tale wedding, picket fences,
pitter-patters


At six I was gonna get big just to eat oreos
and nothing else, all day
I'm serious
I thought adults could do anything
I thought clouds might be made of cotton candy
and if I could find my way up there
I'd leave a disastrously sticky sweet mess of the world
and I could
and I have


I think of love, especially at sunset
when the sky is a confectioner's wetdream
on mountaintops I have felt clouds
slip through my fingertips
colorless, substance-less
this is the love I know


At eight I really thought there were fences
that separated states and countries- just like the maps
I still feel more european than american
& am fully aware I don't know
what either really means
but that it's tragic to only have one hometown
or to ask permission to travel my earth
those lines that I thought were fences,
really are there.


In the space between six and eight I grew a taste
that not everything is possible
I've spent most of my time here learning the rules
and the rest, imaging otherwise
clinging to love's promised fairytale
knowing the whole time that for me,
it does not exist.