a ubiquitous condition only
pointed to by that occasional
below the tub’s meniscus
now outside, now inside.
One can’t trim the sails
of an inflatable boat.
broken open and the birds slowly
expanding. I'm here: trash, fountain,
the back of his concrete
skull on the turquoise liquid
“I don’t mean to be critical, but
is something rotting in here?”
tendons were arrow shields
babies teethed on foot bones
blood was both paint
& pudding & skulls were altars
I don’t know exactly what happened to me.
Who put me here with a mud full of mouth
Did you bring
No, I broke the stove for fun, waited for my fingers
to smolder and water steel on my tongue.
What’s the secret word.
What’s the secret word.
lost it in
in the spine
the throat relaxes. water flows to the lungs.
of one burning branch in some wild brush
flapping its carmine leaves.
Hours on the balcony
are progress, compass
pointed to no fixed place,
I see the top of the hill just in reach but I can’t make it.
Thighs parted within 50 miles. Hair swept up within 25 miles.
In a Kafkan poetics, the father lacks a temporal sense of the world.
dateline cruise of Arctic
His happiness is my relief, his sadness
Celtic honeymoons are of stone. No one gets in or out.
our crystalline symmetry / embodied
What fears may take our shape.
strictly gendered coloration
strictly gendered coloration
what is that you want to inhabit this gravity.
a big Fuck You to prudence
I and the country leave February limping
Here on this continent / you consider the proverbial
because he wanted to make films, whereas
films for me were one part of all of creative life
I was trying to imbibe
hold a dull color and therefore a light
slowed your existence
Some injuries are serious
and some not serious enough
the essential purple, less primary
than the same old sky we walked beneath,
information not difficult to explain but logistically necessary and thus made vague
on my way home I list the carcasses I find:
cutlasses strike the charred cane in concert
all late and incomplete
a population records a population
What if dark means no tree.
a cloud that is too red
I was the empty aquarium recycling its own water.
No lie, I had to speak to the DA
Holding a book of physics essays
Thinking yo, I can’t catch another case
way the world of ambiguity
has its hospitable cont-
inents But the days Owl
if you kill time time kills you right back
rolling through the space that remains of a not-so-distant cloud on the verge of maxing out, filled with variations of ordinary sunsets and faces too intimate for deletion,
I couldn’t name by taxonomy
like an eye fading on a severed head
Oblivion and endurance overlap at the same inconvenient spot: Where one is oblivious another endures.
You too have learned to bake
Into an admirable lie
There are many ways
To repeat yourself
This is not one of them
this is how boys like me play
a smoking, a good-looking funeral home
is nest too comfortable for reader’s
in sites of devotion
the domains of obsolescence
in lessons of calm
the prosperity sickness, the world forest
of print – what shoves
between the words
to believe the sirens
and the rocks
the viejos say the currents have never had a diet
My dad helped nail plywood on all the windows afterward
I bet those panels wished they were still trees
if both president & vice died
who becomes president? the espeaker
of the casa
The Bistrica River has by now reached
America, reached the Bronx.
Perhaps in another life
I could’ve known you better than yourself
but what’s Taíno look like these days?
you remember/ me as bold & wild with a cavity of laughter
the part of the collective
unconsciousness you can access
at times a scream at times breathlessness
The right selfie outlasts
Yes, we'd been sent here to die, but the flesh
of fish had never been sweeter
It’s a violent thing to be alive
in the back seat / of your blue
Could be luck’s the
River Jordan of fiction
The room is brighter / than me, conspicuously so
Improbable fingers bear skyward
if i allow for all means of ruin
that night my navel became an easel,
became its own front yard
vocoders and color guards
and fiberglass tubas
Isn’t she so much more beautiful when she’s crying
A membrane continues / with various openings.
until memory’s opposite
I thought about an unlamented red
out-love time, press
one ear against the door of a stranded
Two proofs that brutes cannot abstract
A source of bullets
program, borders atremble
Us a couple of untucked cowbots
The marsh. The basic puttering. The eyewitnesses
percolated in the minds to reveal the existence
The midge, the bleed around the edge.
Under the archway
they can see she’s gone
so my bones are liquid in sleep
(the way bones
entrapment or caution?
everyone is naked do i know
what my body is planning
Nobody can agree what
to do with the creature because
nobody can agree what to call it.
The lights serve no purpose
anymore. They’re just bright.
in one (1) movie the woman -
tied to a cell toilet -
is fucked by six (6) pretend policemen.
beats eating around the bush.
I attempt to draw a line down myself
where my being black and woman
begin, end, spiral
yet and still the churches burn
attempting a feeling of loss
These days it’s always something
Power is then falling asleep in a chair
And everyone sleeping in chairs
While the bed stays freshly made.
This is not kaddish
This is not rain on shabbat
This is elsewhere
how long ago
did her skin
start to slip
we pretend marks are clear
The others were severe forms of travel
tall gladiolas shout their red
flaw into the mist
true the setting is provincial but
the families don’t feel small
word is deed and only so few chances