I. / A yawning / Pitbull puppy / dipped in gold.

The boy has horrible teeth and a bicycle. They’re yellow, his teeth, and after school the children take a tree branch to his mouth.

–

His bicycle painted in bird shit: he rides for hours

*
i'm gandhi on the beaches
of northern california
i take comfort
in the fact that
the government watches me
on public transportation
i can relax
i want to stop a subway
between

burrow

you traced along the freckles on my back
with black ink,
like a crumpled constellation

i looked at the picture and smiled,
like a lonesome girl reading her diary aloud to an

you can call me the Boom Doctor

I have your emptied-out torso on the operating table

Tops Like Arrows

Dan’s Trans Am smashed into the guardrail,
him doing 75, all hopped up
on Dexatrim and Coors Lite.
I remember him, my younger brother,
 grabbing his fleshy waist when

I’m wet and wearing white pants
I’m wet and wearing
White pants.
I’m wet and
Wearing white
Pants. I’m wet

Pants.  I’m wet
I’m wet and wearing white pants.
Wearing white
I’m wet

I dreamt about walking around Ikea by myself and buying a lime green ice cube tray. I drive to the post office and pick out a large flat rate shipping box. I put the ice cube tray inside and I

Tritina: Die

Our lives, the lyrics of ‘Die! Die! Die!’
Less the scenes in Die Hard or Die! Die!
My Darling! or Juliet Montague’s “when he shall die,”

The way we feel when the

Desireé Panda and the Lee Van Cleefs

A murder dinner for beckoning.  Let’s have a grave way with phonics.  Let’s tangle bright inside one another.  Holding forks, holding knives.

Come out

After a couple of Martinis, // one may regard oneself pleasantly pixelated. / I cure nerves with a ten-hour Netflix binge, // then curve my vertebrae to you / while our phones update.

Washer and dryer as hapless duo, / each crashing and beating the other // to shit, idiot tandem: all this / while standing in place.

For weeks I thought only of this We are a body We will come undone A table of snow and a table of sorrow A tea that smells of a house burned down

I consider the narrow chain of cars pulled through city parks like kite-string.  In linguistics, mora is a single unit of syllabic weight.  I consider yelling at the yellow cab to add more syllabic weight to my overall point.

Where Everywhere Snow, There Grass

There was a patch of grass. There was snow
around the patch of grass. There was me.
I am not about the snow; the snow is not about
me. Although

Thing Being

               Écriture feminine

I was told on a train I was after

delicate—or something to do

with feathers. I heard bird, bird

bird. I heard the word

In first grade

we had to make
a little booklet
about our dads.

You take a sheet
of paper, fold it
fold it again

and then draw
a picture
on every page.

Well, on the

will become

the morning your boots are filled with so much gravity that it is impossible to walk up or fall down a hill, will be the morning before violence. on this morning, the edge of

The gouges / in the floor will become your scars, even as you erase / the life you had together. The floor is your map.

Parricide

Finally they took over the city of my father,
filled it with mosquitoes and bush fog, threw him
in a river of flamingo feces. His snide asides
fell on foreign ears, for

Sound for Fishes

Swim with a rock clutched between your teeth, apple-like. Have a friend do the same. Bang your rock against his rock. It will look like bad CPR. Sound is loudest

Anything worth saying can be rendered / as an aphorism, might itself be an aphorism, / just so you know     My phrase of the moment / is radiant action...

George Strait’s in this poem now, he’s meddling
with everything.  He’s reading words
with the wrong inflections, making me older
than I know how to be. He wants Texas in here;
[defend

Remember being mammalian in the friar patch?

Remember your best reserve for slattern hells?

Remember being mammalian?

This gizmo stuck in my fuss like a picnic,

I turned my head so fast / I mistook the moon / for a firework / and then I wanted // to bark too...