Song for 2 Phones

     What is that?
The line outside
the Maria Bamford standup
we went to last year.
          Send it to me.
     What is that?
A sugar maple on the hill
shedding Gatorade

Traffic

It’s 60 degrees in January so the birds have decided to just stick it out because who can afford the time-share anyway and the flowers bloom completely off-key like the conductor is drunk

...I'm part of this thing where fish learned to walk...

"lucky" and "trophy"

become translucent as they die...

"Silverado Crush" and "This Is How You Throw a Party in Mykonos, Bitch"

"Smile!," "The Finest," and "The Young"

"The First Time I Called Myself His Girl" and "You Google Drive-Thru Margaritas"

"commandment" and "do i miss you? that's none of my business"

There was a time I had a flower in my mouth...

"Splendido Splendente" and "Salt and Pepper or Salt and Vinegar"

I've got the alien walk down...

You make me want to write bad poetry...

"Elon Musk Is Moving to Austin" and "Good Joy"

"sorry to ping / i just want to know who was too good for who..."

"High School Kids and Gonorrhea" and "Bearclaw Asshole"

Anything I speak, I know to speak a second time: My brother 
is dying. My brother is dying. You are not my sister 

tearing through an Italian restaurant, blistering
with what I have given her

more intimate with the fit of a Gildan 
shirt versus this thing hovering some 
distance over my head always threatening 
grey blonde grey depending on mood
secrets held in pinprick dots

After the announcement & its sunder, 
              I flood the afternoon light into knots. 

Pocket a maiden name, banter into twilight & 
              its constituents. Mend the

There were no innocent bystanders,
except a herd of deer, unable to perceive
the color orange. My method consisted
in having a plan, but I was letting the dirt
do my thinking—I’d had it around so

Autocomplete

such a good boy you
fluffy little algorithm patched
with paws and droopy ears
bringing me sticks
always wanting
to play fetch
I throw a frisbee
into the woods
and today it

Against the grinding fever of suppressed 
song, against a muzzle’s searing, sound 
is a muscle.                 The body’s rebuttal, 

a kind of clamoring                             
held

I was too shocked to scream
at the roosters to stop crowing, their throats
                robust and practiced in a language I find myself

disarming at all costs. In my first few years
of

my family and I moved 
from Japan to America
and found solace 
in hunting mushrooms  

the kind we sought 
are called matsu-take, 
the highest grade
selling for a grand per kilo 

I do

— after Frank Ocean, “Nikes”

You would have laughed 
at the sight of us: bodies twisted,
one foot in the air to show off
a new pair of Nikes; iPhones ringing 
with warning about deep