made a new blog

for the 20th day of 2012 because i am PROMPT.
here

hearts

he built their house of aluminum

and when it
crashed
to his numb feet he

wondered about trying.
she sealed the windows with disdain

and when people walked by with
corner-eyes she
smiled,

grating teeth.
their house was built to fall in time.

when the awning
in the faded sun looked
like their hearts

they moved on.

Human Microphone

I said we can't let our instincts scare us
Into stopping. I told the cops, bellow me a melody where
Everyone is armed. there are no Angels in America
And the earth is a dandelion waiting to be blown to pieces.

This is one nation united under Holden.
I said we can't let our instincts scare us
Use your body, we're taking out the steady center
The earth is a dandelion waiting to be pieces.

This on the ten thousand tiny screens
This one nation, united under holding
Our future too tightly. And one fine day--
You are your body. We're taking out the steady center.

Nearsighted

Things mapmakers (me, bats, the man
who maybe named America)
know:

Keeping edges,
Stitching middles,
The proper use of a plumb-line.

The Olympic sport of distance-shrieking
so all that’s eatable is known
and yours.

The art of claiming.
The delicate study of ignoring things
other people discover.

Not-asking-questions-ology.
Not giving apologies.
Squinting into the sun

As if you know its secrets, as if
it were only a tiny replica of the sun
on the map you made.

Adult Mart in Elyria, OH

Because I am a real 18 now I
go with stalwarts to the Adult Mart where
adults are bought or sold. Windows shining,
double-sided dildos arced in prayer,

and the neat rows of vibrating cockrings
in the pews, out in the garden. Here are
shapely butt plugs, blushing fleshlights that sing
in euphoric naked woman voice, or

when batteries die, naked euphoric
sea monster wailing to be found. Strap-on
Turbo-Dong doubles as a walking stick,
handy thing. We’re driving back when the fawn

comes out of nowhere,
eyes on fire, burned headlight lust.

G Reads Her Poems

G Reads Her Poems

when mt saint helens threatened to explode
they sent in planes with photographers
for history, and when the whole top slid out
the dust chased the pilots out of the blast
with a sound like human history compressed

this is on my mind when G does slam
& right before, when she dances with the aisle
and the floor and the ceiling and the walls
and then hits the stage and wipes her
hands on her fishnets and belts
diamond toads, frogs of peridot
expels words like they were authority figures--

a poem that starts with “you”
a poem that starts
“listen” a poem that starts “what they don’t get”
and pauses to smell the washed audience
sweating carelessness, fear to hear her --

when mt saint helens erupted ash fell in eleven states,
blanketed cars and trees and
bruce springsteen’s hungry heart (first guitar, lost virginity)
and G, negative thirteen years old, took notes
on how to rebel, yell the blues

things left behind

sometimes home friends ask
how i am
i don’t know how to pair “everything
is great” with “but the checklists in
sad people pamphlets in
student health—
it’s all there”
those pamphlets are always
wrong anyway that’s why
they’re pamphlets
there to be thrown out
transient.
yesterday i
traced the leaves falling out of the sun
this is my first
how the fall comes. i’m all for
the sun when it makes me born again
i could be Icarus
i too do not listen
to my father,
especially about the face i won’t
give you back: it’s among
other things i left behind
dresses hanging/gold foil stars/leaves
that stayed where i left