in the dream the body runs from fire
poetry
My mornings in this living room
are writing verses while he sleeps
a little longer. He is a sparkling clear beacon
even through chemotherapy,
even as he grows slightly transparent.
He is still strong enough to guide us.My mornings in this living room
are writing verses while he sleeps
a little longer. He is a sparkling clear beacon
even through chemotherapy,
even as he grows slightly transparent.
He is still strong enough to guide us.
He was like the town bike
everyone got a ride. He was like a ride
that made me vomit. He was like the vomit
I spewed in a Wendy’s parking lot.
He was like a parking lot I lay
down in and let the hail beat and bruise me.
He was like a bruise you discover but can’t
remember where it came from.
What did you smack into?
By now you know his hands
were threats. By now you know
his hands were switches. He was like
the switching breeze that smacked
the chimes against my house the morning
I found out he’d hung himself.
I want you on top.
Let me see
a man cast out of heaven
on my account.
I want to see
the moment
a goddess goes
gilded—right before
she goes on to glory
He was like the town bike
everyone got a ride. He was like a ride
that made me vomit. He was like the vomit
I spewed in a Wendy’s parking lot.
He was like a parking lot I lay
down in and let the hail beat and bruise me.
He was like a bruise you discover but can’t
remember where it came from.
What did you smack into?
By now you know his hands
were threats. By now you know
his hands were switches. He was like
the switching breeze that smacked
the chimes against my house the morning
I found out he’d hung himself.
In the blue light of your bedroom
I could be anything: housewife
mending the shadows as they drape
the clothesline, ghost boy, music
pulled from the belly of the lake.
“I’d like
a Dreaming Princess cake,*
please, with a sprinkle
of fairy dust
on top. Have the unicorn
bring it over to that table
by the window.”
Amy texts to tell me the Cinerama Dome in Hollywood is about to close. Pang of regret. Gone forever, the only concrete geodesic dome in the world
In all my years of collecting, there’s only one thing I had as a child that I’ve not been able to find. A clear plastic sectional pen. Actually, it was more like a wand.