angle face

this one soars towards you as if puppetted,
shoulders cinched,
many kisses from tiny pinkened mouths,
and the buzz of dinner against a plate.

also it's buggy

as long as we wake up along the banks along the banks we’ll be fine
we’re muddy we’ve got water in us which is representative of experience
yeah we’re reeding we’ve got birds chirrup chirrup i’m not worried
about us, not even sometimes.

Pulpo on the Mind

lizy bought a tin of octopus;
sat with me on church steps,
or might as well have been;
spread the octoparts onto a napkin
on the sidewalk; ate them.

Untucking

At night the breasts come out,
let down, reliable setting suns.
Or sinking moons.
The bodies come out altogether,
unfold along each other or the air,
and marriage becomes the bra,
the house the pants,
the body small within permitted nudity.

The breasts’ orbit is small.
They know the channels of air,
expect what current hits around 11:00.
Sometimes they mash the carpet
or watch as the sheets hover
against the husband’s back,
the view is white,
the air shakes.

Loose Woman

This morning I’ll stretch until I am a loose woman.
I’ll take some trains until I exceed my community;
Then, perhaps doing nothing, perhaps flopping down.
Flopping instead of sitting, rolling when hills.

I’ll let my hair grow all day.
In cotton,
excluded,
I’ll forget as much as possible.

My goal is to spend more time in dreams,
less in the default dream,
which has begun to absorb me.

florets

yellow
folds into red, nudging blue over
to yellow again.

cervi

today i was your windmill
and you charged toward me and i saw your gleaming flicker

i drink juice from the bottle
i saw you towards me and i threw myself in circles

being a cyclone
sometimes tossing reeling really I

towards what, I
only the gat knows

you can scan anything in 2010

there is a thing called a 3d printer
which prints anything you want
by pooping out hot lil plastic pellets

it's 2010 which means meter is still important but not fucken necessary get me

When You Are Old By W.B. Yeats

When you are full of water and exhausted
and homeward bound on buses, feel the glass
and watch your face in windows as you pass,
and lenses that your hot breath has defrosted;

how many drops have formed against your skin;
like words in sentences across your face.
but one had gone beneath and found a place
to hydrate you and name you from within.

And squeezing out the day's apologies,
arrived at home, remember how it dried.
and rose among the vaporous odes outside,
and hid your praises in anthologies.

Bloat

Because it’s lines are convoluting,
let’s narrate your life--
“At twenty you became a daughter.
At thirty found a wife--”
with decades incrementally diluting.
An adult is a baby. Just add water.

Machine Wash, Line Dry

holding the fort down,
waiting for the washer to thunder to a halt.
for to take the traumatized stuffs
and hang them, by their own limp weight,
on a cord.

so they hang against the cord,
and are indented.

so when you are full of water and exhausted
and i lay one finger to your cheek
do you stiffen against me

so as you dry and lighten
do you retain my touch.

together

tucking and folding create corners,
eye rolls and shoulders found intimacy,
this is you and me and this is our house.

Aye eye I

i'm a secret when your eyes are on me.

Procession

When it’s morning and you’re underground,
sleep-burred against the jostling.
When nothing tempts nor beckons nor entices,
nor recommends nor suggests itself,
only lurches to meet you,
for example coffee.

Taking Place

Over the dishes
tipping a gray pan.
Suds half moon.

I can’t see,
but I know,
There is cinnamon on everything.

And salt and garlic and juice.

I can’t smell, but it is known.
This place is taken
by a minute rotting.

Old Phone

Came looping from her,
incessant, same what were they called:
“protestations of affection”
as always, poignant,
as history, full of questions.

And the question is for the receiver.
Tolerant, helpless.
Awed. By the spiraling towards him.
But does not wrap him up.

People in love are completely horrible.

Requested:

Fields of palpable flowers.

Honestly, anything with temperature.
Or color? Or odor, smell. I need it.
Women with faces.
The burn of encounter.
Gravity.
From, towards whatever.
Please.

Heavy White

Quartz floors and shoes of high sensibility.
A courtly manner, with thrilling digressions.
A tap a tap a tap a how are you mlady?
He was a class act man! A real savant.
He could charm the pants off adam.
But he dwelt among cold bags, shuffle,
clipped to the quick.

Surety

unsure what is recreating.
but, nonetheless, levity.
and clear stretches.

fully turn away.
sleep thinking: tomorrow,
when i’m alive, i’ll sunder
pastries with my coffee.

Passing

Álvaro gave me a piece of candy.
That’s his opinion.
Later Javi’s opinion of Ismael was ripped up
by the teacher, Javi stayed after class.
In the teacher’s opinion.