Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Please recycle me/ I am biodegradable

Planet-friendly/ When my soul molts

just put me in the compost

with the chicken bones/ My skin will settle

down next to onion/ Stew in the mouth

of the slowest eater

The soil rifling through itself

that does not seek/Does not discern

between one hard thing or the other

Shale or tooth/ Folds over the lip

and worm/ Sizzles out a rose

of recycled placenta/ Evaporated

eye ball tears fill gutters/ glasses

I’ll be honored to be your drink

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

When you couldn't stop

When you couldn’t stop

hoola-hooping you hipped

till you turned

tornado. What a beautiful

roof. Was it good? When it finally

fell to your ankles

a house fell out with it—

gashed in the field, cows

splatting down must have

sent you over

the rainbow

to see if you’d melt

in the rain.

When you

got there,

you heard her

singing some

where but

could not



Something like life

A platform: smiling with my liver.

I want a brave haircut so you will

know I am, call me

Little Brave.

Most likely you do not know

I am dead serious

most of the time.

I shoot cannons and you go ha ha.

This is something like repetition,

something like life.

Yesterday was strange

to feel grown up. I held my shoulders

back—statue’d told no one

this is how it feels, does not feel.

Then Peter Pan came

asking to the window, how do you

like your air--dehydrated or fried?

We ate off a large white plate

till morning.

It was something like life.

Now it is today and my hands shake.

You will not know unless I tell you

I keep a picture of a lady in my freezer. Her eyes

beside the peas know all. I want to marry her,

but she is dead.

Tonight I will take off my shoes

and my blender will speak back.

Creatures have a way of recovering.

I will leave the plant where it fell out the window.

Some would call

I know I am too much

like you. That is why you cannot love me.

We go extinct from each other, this planet

of many planets, species

fade off-grid each day—

To watch the breakdown

of cells attack each other—

caffeinated hive—implosion shakes

the tree, then bursts it to light-ashes.

They’ll send a man in a hat, a pocket

that shines to tell you. Or they won’t.

His teeth will be wet when you learn what

you already knew:

stop looking for feathers.

Don’t you remember you dreamt they would

empty every sky, then fill them

with birds that look real.

Don’t you remember

some would call this beauty, claim

not to know the difference.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Rainbow Orange-Deficiency Virus

by Sarah Kai Neal

Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.

We all know the song. But what if the rainbows

disappear? Impossible, you may say, but

unfortunately, the possibility of the impossibility

grows more and more possible.

Across the globe, rainbows plagued by the nearing

of the red stripe to the yellow as the death

of their orange nears are now undergoing an innovative

procedure that is saving lives, and color.

To describe open rainbow surgery, we interviewed

Dr. Tender Heart Bear at Care Bear University who

describes the procedure:

“The lucky rainbow is saved by the needed orange

transplanted from a healthy rainbow donor--usually

a poor rainbow, or one who passed away

most untimely but signed the back of its arching card.

During surgery, the rainbow is put to sleep beneath

a sunny day. Anesthesiologists spray mist

once every sixty seconds--just enough so that

the subject is still there, but in a fading way.

Just before it disappears completely, more mist,

then counting to thirty seconds until the rainbow begins

to blink. At this time, in a slim window of 30 seconds

before the next spray makes it again vibrant, rainbow surgeons

like myself inject orange from the skyscraper needle

into the sleeping rainbow.”

Postop, Dr. T. Heart describes, rainbows are watched closely

for rejection of the donor orange, and administered sun

and light pills that clinical studies have shown help

it accept the orange as its own. The risk of rainbow death

in surgery continues to decrease, as leading rainbow surgeons

learn more about rainbow makeup.

In Fix Sick Rainbows school at Care Bear University

surgeons and researchers alike work tirelessly

to uncover the epidemic, now coined the Rainbow

Orange-Deficiency Virus that attacks the orange stripe.

As they dissect rainbow cadavers and begin mapping

its ultraviolet strand, it is their hope to produce a vaccine

before the end of the decade that will prevent

the attack on orange.

Associated Press


Saturday, March 26, 2011

Woman Hand me

Not one sip or two, but swallows.

Did you know when you jump, you fall

back down she never said.

Those understoods. Feathers.

Inside me I never said. Thousands of eggs.

I’m not bleeding but I will, but if I were,

what would that mean?

Woman Hand, reach me. Up my dress: a nest

of birds, many promises of red.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Bound: September 19, 1981

A vertical incision, latex fingers fishing in
the day a million gathered to hear sittin’ in the railway station
two brothers reunite in a New York park.
Spinal drugs flooded cold
silver between us, no longer your body my destination
calling, did they change
my mind—a breech
of contract with Universe—for a poet
second thoughts about planet Earth
I turned half-circle
before steel dragged its heel, skidded through
the muscles you held me in an endless dream.

The curtain between us so you didn’t see
the mess they’d made, the moment of me
half-in/half-out of your body, before they raised
me dangling in fluorescence, drugged and singing home, where
fierce, I fish-out-of-water shook.
Strange hands fondled, beneath my nails
your was-blue washed clean
and wrapped me.

The deliverance: out of home; into your arms’ sudden perfect;
little time to recall the difference, the bleeding over that I long to be
when the Latching sets in, magnetite-
devotee, I swallowed the formula, dulled shades of mediocrity
through the plastic tip, the new plural
never full-
made, we slept through
your tubes tied, knotted off
the possibility of a threesome ("I only wanted you") we slept bound
as they sewed you back together—
the gut-mouth they’d made—spilled,
stitched up to not-talk, silently, not to
ever say more than one, longitudinal scar, homeward.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

To leave god/painted inside the gut

You may find history ends luminously/ ends bathed
in steady lumens/ Or you found it never ends/ Always
you knew the ceiling falls in five hundred years

No creature breathed/ nor bathed in light
to witness another history made from piles
No iguana’s 3rd eye pale / and blinking/ No drag
of armored tail/ over/ the bearded god’s
fallen hand

The hand the painter with his neck
careened/ up/ five trips around the Sun
strained/ to leave god/ painted inside the gut

To become/ nearly light/ Aching the lumens
in his body as he stood on scaffolds/ suspended
knowing it would fade/ it would