FEAR OF FLIGHT
I’m working against the memory of aunt Raisa
choking toward the toilet.
She’s a snapshot by the train station,
not a tumored head curled on chair leg.
You are not so afraid to touch inside your
ass,
so why not wipe
grandmother. Ask me again about visiting.
I sold my favorite book for
So the children will know a different
winter.
There really is no variation between
takeoff and landing.
In between I resign myself. I will not let
the memory
of the Hermitage go
to waste. Even at seven the black square painting was pondered.
And Lenin mattered just as his giant brain sagged the scales,
as much as jumping
the mini rooftops.
So I will no longer be a president.
Something left me with a pop.
It was the continent I created, etched
into a memory of feeding
and an
And, no, it is not a disappointment. It is
also a continent
dislodging food and
rebuilding body parts.
I’m buried somewhere in a sandbox.
THE ACHILLES FIELD
There is a heartbeat on a spine, and no bed
is big enough to hold this.
You could say the same thing three times
and it is still a pebble, and
he is still driving a
used car to the grocery store. Oh, I’m concerned for
his meat intake. Oh,
he says things in quiet and it moves across. Does
the air move and the
train passed with whistle. Something about a tin
room and a candle
burning. We have to talk about my cracking forehead
with all the girls
streaming out. Girls. Are so
beautiful. There really is
no other word. What was I made out of.
A simple fur with tin plates.
Also, a dash of a
deer stand. Did you know these things spin out of my
ribs and abdomen. Like
a loom or a threaded needle. When we say night
I mean the dark thing that sits on my
throat. And you mean the dark thing
only. The night is
fine. The seals were mating and the
bears ripped that apart.
This one is for the boy with braces, trying
to give himself a blowjob,
trying to give himself to
our waitress. Our flight attendant.
CALF’S BLOOD
All I do is drink calf’s blood. I’ve sent
up black plates,
black pots with stars on
the bottom. Bursting out.
Budding the ivy plant and cutting diamonds,
walking
and scattering chicken
feed.
By land, your city is a long journey. I’m
not sure if
the sea comes close to
your city. The streets are left
over on your continent.
Oh My Father Was
Arrested
Oh my father was arrested.
He was selling things in the street!
Cigarettes in a
carton. My father.
He told me much later. And I thought
his glasses, did he
get to keep them.
Was he also scared to get in a truck
and our math
notebook did he hate it,
are we all arrested
and glamorous.
We have two outfits and our legs.
Later we shop for hangers. We are tearing
coming apart, no we are about to. We are
living for now. Will we
save the breasts
of
But they will not look the same! And one is
bigger!
Even the dolls have closets. And plastic shoes.
A Kind Of Grace
The condition is human and the beating is
the heart. Why do the fathers
not think before us.
Do they realize that there are several impacts. We do
not
crash as they want us
to. Fathers do not think of crashes as
they lead.
Why do they know everything but walk past us. What happened to the holding.
Here is a language barrier called “The
Continental Drift and Plate Difference”
Fuck. Fuck that moving sensation. I could
have vomited up a better bucket
but I held it for
eight years. The language barrier is temporary. Read about
the alligators in
their natural habitat.