In the creamy morning light,
fat snow lounges on the mountaintop.
My new day has no confidence.
My shoes wait by the door,
made of bone china
And stained with my used blood.
Secondhand fire bounces
off the receding moon.
Numbers await me,
my house and my mind
Filled with them.
Math cuts me.
The subtraction demanded
of me is too much.
I shove my feet in my shoes.
Outside the morning is frosting
on my world.
I have nothing but
the robbery of my body.
The knife peels away
my life like skin from an apple.
My mouth was never
designed to grow old.
In the impossible hour,
my matter exposed to the end.
After metamorphosis –
thought,
projected project,
my tongue at the door.
After the renewal of my skin,
Vows of ivory.
All thoughtful ideas are
material things.
Lines construct wishes
That let you down face to face.
Small as a pond,
You are bordered by mossy velvet.
You act like me.
Rivers do not
associate with women.
First I was a fish.
Then I was provided with womanhood.
The oars on the canoe
Love one another in Morse code.
I’ll walk under the hollow water.
My understanding of
beauty and all that you can do
flourishes like kelp,
always below the surface.
I build a home against the
sure bet of his chest.
He goes down in me
in search of the ruby.
I am a statement of
conjecture and figure.
It’s a romantic romance,
wearing every red color except red.
Abuse me.
There is more of me to leave.
Like cinders in the forest.
I cleave to my fundamental heat.
Delete me inside.
Too much of me
and you’ll need water to hold.
He is a place
Of marble and speed.
He writes me notes
That I hear.
His story is one of unearthing,
of a sun making casualties of snow.
Over the arc,
absolute shape –
my calves,
finish lines.
His novel.
You will find me alone
next month,
calling music my own.
Women’s illegal tender-
tenderness toward even the kudzu.
If he cancels the length and breadth
of my body tonight,
I will float above him like air from the fan.
Recreation fills me
with finger and tongue.
I am designed for it.
Humanity is crouched
beneath the table
where my glass leaves
a ring.
Dust is wedded to success.
In the humanness that
roams the rooms –
a forgettable act of kindness
in skivvies.
My inner warden
patrols beneath my skin.
Lowly instinct,
leave your hiding!
Your enemies have finished counting,
And have hung your better
Natures from the doorframe
with a steel cable.
I remember the elevator it
Came from,
Dipping the car
Up and down from the bottom
Of the hospital to the top
Like ladle to bowl.
Lemons in the kitchen
are twisted.
The dishwasher is broken,
But the knives have been
Sharpened on teeth.
Out from under the furniture
Comes my neighbor’s
Selfishness and my rage.
I finish my soda.
This should be good.
The down in your quilt
Reminds me of the
usefulness of everything,
even those who lose.
In the smoke of the
gun blast I saw Gabriel
lay down his sword and pray.
The bird fell professionally.
The next day rolled over
to find you warm
beneath the down.
Miniature Moon 