POETRY

He made it possible. He was formerly a fabulist. 
He was faceless, but he was ugly, graceless 
and he made everything disappear.  

aligning 
as fingers 
deftly dance 

on checkered 
smooth plastic 
disco stage 

Adam’s countenance: beer cask-heavy 
his eyes: glazed shallots 
his smile: a split itself 

Now take away the need 
for moisture and the deteriorating  
qualities of autumn. The veins   

and stems will release as well.  
Take away the release. Take  
away the seasons.

When Taylor Swift was at the gym in Japan  
she watched the muscled back of a man   

moving up and down a heavy machine 
made by other heavy machines for men.   

of spontaneous human combustion,  
of pictures with the Cherry Hill Mall Santa, 
of a stapler after getting my wrist stuck to my teacher’s green bulletin board, 

and on the tv 
a drag queen 
sharing her recipe 
for sun tea  

asks us if we want to  
watch her take a break 
and we take a break   

Honeywell closed their Minnesota plant quietly
and the addition of warning stickers on album covers
would save the children along with D.A.R.E., Nancy
and Tipper directing the conversation, for some reason.

I read, I traveled, I, Lina, thief’s daughter, a discarded toy by the campfire 
at night, my planets – burned by sparks, 
burned by coincidences, in my eyelashes – stalagmites of ashes. 

Because Phil Collins is for fools and old ladies.  
Because the ocean’s too wide a body of water  
for a commando to cross alone. Because gentlemen  
never kiss and tell, and soldiers never share  
their kill count. Because you teach the meaning  
of words like ‘amorous’ and ‘varnish’ and ‘leave.’  

Women multiply miracles, raise dough for loaves, reel in sleek fishes, French-manicure-cling to beloveds’ wishes. Nevermind they’re too broke, too busy, too blue cuz compassionate women put others first and I love that too.

every second we spend together he slips further away, 
replaced by some incarnation I’ll understand only 
when it is time to say goodbye/hello.  It’s cruel  
this constant leave-taking, I think 

Was this how they partied in the South—campy  
gay guys and their campier girlfriends—I longed 
to chew the fat with them for hours. Skinny dip 
in their Georgia moonlight after 25¢ beers.   

The mystery of Black Moon Lilith repeats and repeats
into itself: It is an
empty space, It is what happens 
when we die. 

So that the jumbo popcorn in the movie
theater scene must be tempered with 
a discussion about extra butter, a shaming 
and a shushing, crushing the soft white 
fluffiness of a kernel sprung brilliantly 
into a flat bug on the floor. A joy-kill. 

A small red circular shape on the lower left-hand corner of the canvas, a prize that looks like a rose. The painting instructs all of our ghosts, if you follow my madness, my paths, you too, can caress these petals, smell a sweetness, like a little girl’s smile, fall asleep under a dollhouse.

& it was the end of the world as we knew it & I felt 
kind of shitty if I’m being honest here & I was pissed 
my dad died of cancer the same week Kurt Cobain  
killed our generation off with selfish shots of bourbon & 
gunfire  

When I would cry as an infant, my parents dangled me upside down until I stopped crying and fell asleep like a bat. Now, I have to spend nine hours a day asleep in a headstand. My pool’s inflatable. My neighbors are all old men. My role model growing up was Ivan from Brothers Karamazov.

Two sleepy people, twisted, on the rebound. Tonight, is there any chance? Disco inferno, boom boom, tempted. Rum and coke, tequila, blurred lines. Looking for the perfect beat, time, waiting for the miracle. The waiting. 

What cruel hand plopped you down  
in a festering lake of blood  
to plod incessantly behind the dead tree,  
so near the cliff face?  

How does it feel to have a life worth 11k runes?   

the patterns do not change __ __ __ __  
they are misremembered __ __ __ __  
cool hand __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ 
separate heat __ __ __ __ __ __  

Be gentle don’t bump it I’ve got Andromeda centered 
In the viewfinder but it will already have shifted slightly 

Gliding its trillion stars and their moons in millimeters 
Behind the local legends painted ancient on the dome  

but ask me again how much 
I care about the other mouths 

that could call my name. 

We’d get home, and he’d go back to weaseling money out of Mom  
and squandering it on things that were smokable or fit in a syringe,  

on what wasn’t bread. The little money he made came from  
selling our family’s things: Mom’s jewelry, TV and VCR

swallows actin’ drunk 
swimmin’ overhead 
chasin’ each other ‘round 
like brand new lovers 
stumblin’ out the bar at 2 am 

I command subjects, turn math to English, history  
to lunch, govern teachers and students alike in  

my slow crawl through middle and high school 
periods.

We are all God’s little playthings. Or else why are we on a ball.

I had the goods, 
the lowdown, the skinny, 
the whole truth  
and nothing but. 
I was dangerously 
in the know.  

If you listen, really listen, their voices come back.  
They start to tell you about places you’ve  
never been, about things you want with  

a ferocity that scares you sometimes. They make 
sense. Sit with them on the couch and watch 
a movie you know is bad.

Only connect 
indeed. Dressed and buckled in 
like chefs or psychiatric patients,  
they shuffle and lunge.