Shrine

In the market, Rayanne arranges
breadfruit and guava on her stand.
She frames them with squat pumpkins
and green hooks of plantain. She
leans against her stool to stretch her
legs,

Tropic of Cancer

for Lawrence Stewen

On this shore, the insects scheme, sing
the hair along my body. I say I dream about

strolling where the moonlight hits the water
and disturbs it,

I was God’s favorite, once—enough
schoolgirl in me to make Mary
sweat. not a fall-from-grace, but something sweeter.
an unlit cigarette wedged between two
adolescent fingers; & the skin like

HOOD

We jut Ma’at into our daily bread.
Turn mud into pyramid bricks,
shadows mapping the heavens.
We rise above the stars.
Invent language harmonious
with all creation.
Fight wars because

PROEMNAL

1.

On’s on.

Storm in summer so awed.

Storm in summer so the awning.

Gum rubber space slowing
to show me it’s one big skin
sweating and leaking into
all over me.

I don’t

YOUR POMPEII

It’s fire season and I want to be a better god; to be your pompeii
but one morning I was not myself. I will tell you a secret-
I will tell you what the arsonist told me as he struck

THE LOOKOUT

A person looks out onto the ocean. The water does not look like it is moving. Is it a real ocean? How are we to decide? There is something small and very far away. The person cannot

Skincare for Trees

Take care of your skin she says, over the dinner table,
tracing lines on the table with thin long fingernails,                                                                 

Gentian Violet

For years I lied
          to everyone
                  said gentian was related
                                             to violet
                  I don’t know why

MORNING

As a child I was taught
the small gathering of matter:

in the garage of summer,
a shelf of conch shells

flat yellow saddle oysters layered in jars,
small change purses of cicada

not the man

you should have fucked
the forest, not the man

the ravine holds secrets
not him

not him
secrets hold the ravine

not the man, the forest
you should have fucked

easy come,

My favorite period historically

has been the interim period

Desert Dance

I didn’t believe tumbleweeds were real until I saw one
just like ghosts or gods or anything: I’ll believe it when I see it.
Somewhere I fused leaving & searching into the same

Late June on the North Side of Town

We are in a paleteria eating lime & chamoy ice cream—
or is it sorbet? On our walk over here we talked
about ginkgo leaves & how they offer the

CHESTERTON’S FENCE

The poem is a small gate
on a country road
the rare motorist must stop
to unlatch
before going on. Even
the road is forgotten
more of a “long”-cut:

Nowhere to nowhere

the only person who texts me is my mom

mostly about how her back hurts
i send her a
proverb that says: you are as old as your spine
she replies: then i must be dead
my mom is always

Gratitude for what’s new now

When we,
best friends,
held each other's faces in our hands
like crystals
as he discovered something about himself.

When the eddy rushed,
the water
flowing in

Maybe the green / just shows up...

Please cc my soul / on every email...

There are two of you (you being singular...

"Foul Machine" and "Randy Got an Idea"

which is not a signal / but a storm warning...

An immigrant from the Russian Empire invented jeans...