we flutter a delicate
we seek snow and find instead
pupils spark turned upwards 
blinking blind from fire to sky
a scintilla
a meteor
piles of dead insects
in your bed
blast-away motes  
cautious in the cateye
hallowed holes for cantankerous crabs 
a daring blink and the universe will skip us
so here you slide your hand up my thigh 
the polyester sleeping bag swishes around us
a whispering windstorm amid giggles and burps
we seek fall and find instead 

Everything in a moment.
Everything in motion
The mouth of the stream muttered wet poetry, “Sull’aria.”
The deer moved softly. Ballerinas on the tips of their toes. Tap tap tap the surface of the earth. The herd of ten uttered no farewell. Spindly cervine shadows disappeared into obscured forest.

He bowed his head into a coffin
 and a yellow fluid ran from his mouth 
onto the floor. 

pretend that you live near a stream
and the water of that stream makes strangers fall asleep
and when they sleep, they are vulnerable

pretend that your blood is wanted and you’re running
you always wanted to be on the run, 
because fear frees flightless birds

pretend you are young
pretend you have romance on your side
we could go sledding if you weren’t cold,
we could go skating if you weren’t cold,
we could do anything but you’re fading 

 My neighbor has not played clarinet for weeks—there were no sounds, there was no music. A drought of music. A curse of lingering, stagnation, with no sign—no promise—just the emptiness like a blank, opaque circle—and I was at the center of it--
Until today. I can breathe again—finally free from the weighted responsibility of suspense. Momentarily. 
The swan has returned. 

he saw that her eyes were grey and he said to himself, 
remember it.
i collapsed into sleep
i unbolted this dream

i walked onto your porch 
and into hot night 

I have not forgotten. 
venus is holding hands with jupiter 



Don't go outside and discover that you like being free.
that look
i want to believe 

i have no words written inside me
and i'm not really that interesting
after all.

enchanted. fantastic. 
maybe, one day, me. but unlikely. 
i had a nightmare about my painting. 
she's has long legs. 
busy busy 
busy busy 
maybe with her hand on your cock
drunk and smiling 
long legs tossed over your lap. 
and everyone is having fun. 

i'll be very quiet. 
  1. emerge from milky 
  2. white wet 
  3. ice cream homes 
  4. to clouds and corners 
  5. facsimiles
  6. chimneys
  7. some snow on the greygreen lawn
  8. yard yawning 
  9. canada geese here
  10. and canada geese gone
All people want are pills

To help them learn to talk
To help them learn to feel

But they can't be their eyes
Several times I've seen them try
They know, they can't be their eyes

Some boys I know
They speak with broken mouths
I have to sit inside their stomachs
To find out what they're really about 
-Stomach Song by Broken Social Scene

“The natural world...was bounded by a mere translucent, porous barrier that led to the more powerful realm, of spirits, devils, angels, & saints.”
  page 8 of Peasant Fires by Richard Wunderli
i often remember that night we walked through the forest. blind and stumbling. we tripped over sticks and stones and stumps. we tumbled along a dark path; lights from nearby homes & the faraway moon dimly crept among the trees. 

it seems like we've spent most of our time together in the woods. in the darkness, on an unkempt path, twisting our ankles on unseen obstacles. 

i watch this moment over and over, setting us in different times of day & night, at dawn & dusk. And sometimes there are birds, lots of birds, yelling at me a cacophony of warnings: please, turn back.

and each time i replay the scene, it seems more obvious it was always a mistake. never should have taken those timid first steps. 

now the protagonist of this memory doesn't know what to do. i have the knowledge she couldn't have possibly seen--and despite the obvious warnings from the birds, it's still too tempting. the loam smells clean. the pregnant possibilities seem promising. Seem.

her partner stands frozen beside her. she stares at him with knotted eyebrows like she's trying to figure out the puzzle. she's trying to decode the pictographs, exaggerated by shadows,  carved into his features. 

i guess she'll never know how deceptively perfect it was. in the moment, it seemed, they could be shoulder-to-shoulder forever. she'll never know better. but i do.

he doesn't actually think you're beautiful, or sexy, or lovely, or interesting. they're lies. i don't know whether or not she could be convinced of that. she'd have to find out for herself. but i don't let her plow forward into the decaying quagmire of a once too-good-to-be-true promise. she can stay there, staring a his face made morbid by the moonlight, half-believing she's "in love." 

let's be children. 
play with our shadows. 
pull bugs off trees. 
dive into an imaginary world. 
watch light drop from a window & 
play with the suspended, floating dust. 
splash, wet, fast. 
in a puddle or a stream.
hold hands with someone, i guess. 
try to make everyone laugh 
& stop fucking lying 
& stop trying so damn hard.
let's make some masks! & build a fort! 
& have an adventure!
right here.  
 we can paint our bodies and the walls.
get into the mud. 
eat some cake or something. 
i'll read you a story. we can write a story. 
invite everyone over and we'll roll on the floor. 
since when are you too good 
to roll on the floor?

glass fawn

it’s said that the glass fawn came and went as it wished, 
living an eternal life in this world 
for escaping the passing of time in the other.