april poetry

I collect the snot
pooling at my feet,
wondering if mallard ducks
mate for life
or if they're just
swimming in pairs for a season,
vitamin D makes eye contact
with strangers feel romantic
(or electric).

my snot inside a blue canteen,
I lead you outside,
stepping barefoot over
broken lightbulb shards,
I say this is how we
water our flowers here,
with nose-gunk
clear as gravy.

it started in my
toes/chest/stomach -
or wherever feeling
begins.

it crescendoed,
to a temporary temper-tantrum,
a swell of energy.

i yawned -
washed the feeling down
with
corn & potatoes & roast beef -
went back to sleep.

a man,
white beard intact,
head hair thinning
to a peach-skin scalp,
dies alone
in a barn.

does anyone hear him thinking
(daring to think)
about dipping toast in tea
and eating peaches.

when he thought -
of toast/tea/peaches,
her pimpled skin,
stretched across her back
like craters on the moon -
he turned his head,
turned away from
the open barn doors,
stopped waiting for
the bar to cross
the doormat/threshold/him
at the speed of light,
dreamed he could kiss the moon.

thick thighs
undressing
in the back corridor
of your skull

a knee stabs
through your nostril
tells you
this is the kind of thing
that hurts

something else
tells you
this is the kind of thing
you want
to keep going

you're acting godless,
body not fitting in skin,
you're too small,
then the next minute too big;

fleshy stomach
pushing against
cardboard carcass.

you inhale,
the smell of goat fuzz
fills your chest,
wet socks & mayonnaise,

you're feeling godless.

you stop,
hovering somewhere
above me,
your elbows sinking
into the cushions,

our shoulders,
and chest
apart now,
my skin
begins
to goose bump.

you stop,
fingers lost
somewhere between
my hip bones,
and just stare
at me.

Pillsbury flour snowflakes
landing on your eyelashes
& tongue

under umbrellas
black & blue & black
the rest of your friends
are forgetting how
to get wet

you taste
the snowflakes
feel the ghost
of a blueberry muffin
expand
inside your mouth

car doors
slam shut
& suck
all the sound
with them

back turned
i feel
the distance
between
the city's skyline
& my scapulas
grow

yellow puss
dripping from my ear
tastes like
lemons
(smiles & sunshine & sunshine)

in the death act,
park swings are rocket ships,
stairs are portals
to a (parallel) floor;
that never spit us out
the same place twice,
your hands are water slides,
your face-
is full of anger.

laying in the grass,
eyes closed,
you, on your back,
me, on my stomach,
i rest my head on your chest
& you tell me all your problems.
the sun shines.

when you sing
the chorus of Blister in the Sun
or
just to get a reaction

she'll feed you,
canned tomatoes &
she'll get up to leave

you'll grow,
tomatoes together,
place seeds in wet soil,
& you won't have anywhere
to go.

you held me,
while the whole world
vibrated.

if I was a chameleon,
I'd smile,
a teeth-y smile
& be happy.

for now,
I am on my knees
rummaging under
cardboard takeout containers,
dirty clothes &
coins
for the wires
popped loose
from my braces &
the world is still vibrating

I'll finger-fuck a barbie
with my nails:
long & pink.

are we a happy family?

she says no

I put my head on your stomach
& wait for you to ask me
a real question

we named our baby
a sound you can't make with the human mouth,
only with a plastic keyboard & a pitch adjuster

I trade lover for friend for husband for sperm donor for brother

we made too many sex jokes
in front of our baby

I explained the plot of The School
to convince you to sneak into the graveyard
through a hole in the metal fence

(we're educating the next generation)