Writing
and I choose not to spend / purgatory hating you
The understanding that the world does not see itself through your eyes, the acceptance thereof.
Sand is for her and her alone.
falling / is different at two vs. fifty-two
say the perseids. say the greek fire hailing down
Complete the sequence—the wheel, the printing press, the transistor ... what’s next?
I am standing next to / the unsunken earth
No flashing light, no puff of smoke. This isn’t the movies.
Bawk bawk!
I want to pour my head out from my left ear into your new chalice.
this is / the specter of blue, the sky, / all of it.
opaque pang they would call / love, that rarefied thing
mix equal parts helpless and culpable. form into original shapes.
Here amidst the Pacific / I have forgotten dryness.
the kind of thing you build / by hand, two of
the invader, goddess of the electric / hand.
once there was meaning / but I swallowed
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the red oaks all strings / not like artificial straw
everything is // different. half of me too.
It didn't take long for Laura Herrera to notice that something was strange about her twins.
Your bird protests, but she does not know winter.
They’re singing a chanson outside.
the body is light and fruit. / the mind is color and water.
why did she take residence in you, how did she grow?
the clock chimes six and / you transform into a different person.
I have seen the light, / and you will be struck blind.
without / light there are no things, there / is no shadow.
I can tell you're / thinking of your heart things again.
myself a vessel for / the eternal things.
she goes between / the flat and real with // a thought.
On the tarpaulin I lay your body, cold and rigid as the geometry you love.
The neighbor’s girl coughs rubies and sapphires.
Vivian clutched the bag in her lap and thought of winged things.
...a beat beneath his feet, a quickening in his pulse.
“What do you mean, backwards?”
why we only love people after they die/I don't understand.
I need.
I am thinking of a sharp thing.
roots, not wings.
I laughed at your question in the glittery grass, our only cover the mantle of twilight.
slip between the grating of my/ribs
I did not know it would hurt/this much to turn into an angel.
It is all an accident.
The cello is her voice box and she lets it out.