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
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
find
her.
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.
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.
