unknown regions

can you say impeach

can you say the snow

can you say cerulean and
wavering azure,

can you say the quality

of light.  no?

then say ships at sea in

unknown regions, say steer on.

past cyclops and siren those

waters deep cut through, say sail.

say

this is the heroine’s quest,

say, the universe is pressing its

palms together in a

prayer for us

(thank you, nk)

the stage

at the edge of creamy carpet are a woman’s

shoes, stillettos mostly, and one pair that

belongs to a man, untied and placed

next to each other, and as she revisits this

in her mind she wishes she would have

paid attention to the direction the toes of his had pointed, but

has an idea about that even though rewind can never

be hit in this life and if it could it would tell

a different story every time

and two cups with straws

and a drive-thru bag are litter on the table

and on the table too a pair of his pants, a sweater, and

a shirt are folded neatly and stacked by keys, a watch,

and an empty ring, and as she revisits this in her mind she realizes the

implication in her application of the word empty,

but next time,

the story may be different

and in the bedroom a woman’s clothes

are strewn across the floor, tangled

in blankets and floor pillows.  i’m not wearing them

and won’t need them quickly or

any time soon and with our eyes open we face each other,

with my eyes open i watch you, 

listen to you ask, “what about mon--”

and wonder at this weird miracle

of how you can fall asleep mid-sentence, with

such fearlessness, like a kitten asleep with its

belly exposed

and the fan chain dangles and clicks with the

rhythmic swirl of the blades, the sound

suggesting a clock, but not a clock,

and precise time is not the actual moment anyway

which is to say between us only some promises are necessary,

and you will waken soon just as quickly as you slept 

and you will leave, and in each today

the exact present exists just at the inside edge

or maybe just at the outside edge of

enough

basic math

Two apartments.

Two houses.

Two hotels.

Two kitchens

Two offices,

One rolling cart.

One table,

One balcony,

One shower. 

Three living rooms,

Three broken hearts.

One bar stool. Twice.

One broken table,

Three counters,

One desk chair,

One slipper chair,

Two coffee shops,

Five bars.

One tea house.

One broken bed.

Two couches,

One mini van,

Six rides in cars.

Several broken glasses,

Two deaths.

Two nights and 

Two mornings.

Two desks.

Five kids, Two marriages,

One divorce.

One surgery,

One bouquet,

Two sunset eyes

Two sunrise eyes.  Which come first?

We don't want to brake anymore

We don’t want to break anymore

We don’t want to break any more

We don’t want to

No photos

No families

No anniversaries.

paper kisses

what can be done with paper kisses.
they are small seeds accepted because
your legs are not nothing 

you redwood,
deep anchored enormous and
shifting perspective

from eight days away I consider taking the kisses you’ve left propped against the whisky bottle
and folding them into airplanes and sending them off to become pulp in the December rain
because there are many ways to leave and

then you swing through and up close.
but then up close 
next to you I am 

young and I forget everything else because up close everything is 
your thighs, your calves, your knees, your heat.  your stance, your hands, your cypress sap 
my tonic.

what can be done with paper kisses
small seeds of redwood accepted,
bodies of infinite and

I fold those two kisses you’ve left on the counter into fish and they swim up a waterfall
and become dragons in the sky,
free and powerful outside the current.

depression games

He asked me if I would rather
have thirty arms but every time one came near a baby the baby would die
or no arms and babies

I answered thirty arms, to his stricken face, then laughed
and said

JK!  Of course no arms; it would be hard to feed babies with my feet
but we'd make do and he said

JK!  If you had thirty arms and the babies died, then you would die too
but you would only have two arms in your coffin and everyone would think
you were a baby killer for fun.  You would be dead and couldn't defend yourself.
Now what do you choose?

and I said, I picked no arms!  I picked no arms and babies!

and I think of these moments that one afternoon,
and I think and think and can't stop:

You are in there, couched in riddles,
you are asking me to vouch for sacrifice,
to prove my love, to tell you the
exact price I would be willing to pay for you,
and the answers I give you cannot accept right now
and I am frightened by our game.

conversation

two strangers meet

pour,
pain, speak:
a cross burned on your front grass
those sinister dresses and pointed hats
and your dad.

pour,
pain, speak:
my impulse, my heartbeat
is chest-caged and free and I'm
one eyelash beyond amoeba.

sacred one

her eyes describing bloodshot lines,

suspect routes, connection sites
hackjob sutures cross-stitch town

and she checks through space
for the distance between our bodies.

the distance between their bodies
stands solid dark fossilized flow
but for stroking small gestures

midday screentime caresses
her towel dried fingers release

to type
where the fuck you at?
on a tiny keyboard.

two one none

electric stairs

to a pond of heat

crawl up double close and

breathe, breathe. i

inhale, inhale,

flip on, slide through 

so, how long did it take us to meet?
four lifetimes.  maybe three. 

you say in my eyes
you remembered to breathe

and memories braid the

literal, the figurative.

meanings of

two, one, 

none.
 

sacred too

she
glass shell, put to his ear, 

hear smoke whisper samba inside,

come move.

wide sea, carry on carry back,
hear snare drums and surdos inside,

come move.

so sway. quarter beat.

play she lips and he lips

so sway.  quarter beat
pull she to he hips

afternoons slow, the telephone left

on the desk