.
one i tie a garbage bag around my finger to remind me what we have, to remind me what we had not, cuts off the circulation, bloodrise plum-colored, bejeweled, glimmering in sunrise see-all, sunset scavenger garbage trucks wink me in malfragrant collaboration as they zoom down the block toward the sea.
two turns me into a monster, little easy-does-it, little glitch of pretending second-guess our dream-people, our concocted bedtime cocktails, our slivers, incisions, the angle to the arch in our feet. feet are for touching together, for asking, for come with me, don't you want to go where i go. run. brake squeak, a baby terydactile. a street before time. a cloud-shaped dinosaur batting her long eyelashes at the crows who howl at the traffic from treetops and telephone wires. looking for lost things.
three banging pots and pans around in an elevator shaft, my digestion sounds like a chorus of machinery. sloppy gulp, i swallow a flower, oops. empty, ouch, we're going up when we were supposed to be going down. things are growing from every direction. i end up somewhere i never thought of, never even made up, and you know me, i make up everything. you miss that, don't you. are you or aren't you. what, dying? i forget your name when the adjective follows the noun. lost. looked-for. liar pretend. i'm growing your name like a forced bulb, my sweet saliva keeps you alive where you are, buried in my cheek, keep you like a miniature garden with my tongue. shhh. if i open my mouth, a bird flies out.
four i is for me is the girl is a character in a book is the way to be is to be like her is like taking nothing for granted is difficult but not impossible is the skylight in your cheekbone is a nutmeg brown is a nice color is integral to survival is tough in the city is made of rock is wedged in a the doorframe is the way to get in is the way to get out is to flee is flight is limited to a bug or a bird is.
five in the middle of me lives a hurricane, hurricane ali. it's nice to meet you. i'm looking for a lamp, i'm looking for an emergency candle, a knitted-blanket-and-beach-towel fort in the den. i'm looking for a bear in the pear tree. withstanding the wind, i cup my hand to my forehead and look out over the ocean. in the distance, a lighthouse with a dumb dragon inside. drenched. sneezing little smoke-bombs, allergic. in the other distance, a scrappy moon. pierces the purplish drape of sky. holds together our two sides of horizon. a frankenstein-stitch. a lilypad. an anchor.
six all arrows are pointed down. i hide myself for you in the hole of a tree, a broken curb, under a rock with wildflowers or weeds. purple, yellow, some are edible. some are both. "which is which?" you whisper. you can't tell the difference. only i can. from the ruins of my box of shipwreck tricks, i have one left. i play the cards like each is my last, and it is. i stroll like a porcelain pony, chinadoll in a white frock and bonnet. threaded with pocket roses, i bat my plastic eyelashes. i lie to your face every time.
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when you call
when you call, i'll be knitting a hat for an elephant. droopy, gray. gigantic.
when you call, i'll be making lasagna in a quiet kitchen listening to my voice in my head. i'll be just beginning my fall pledge-drive, trying to raise the vibe, or the roof, or the stakes. someone sad will call in and pledge their thirst or their art or their love, and i'll accept.
when you call, i'll be in the bathtub filled with ice. i run so much my legs are like lamp-posts. because i can't keep my feet still. because someone is always around threatening a game of tag. because i want to be faster than everyone, just in case.
when you call, i'll be writing a jacob-poem. a poem like jacob would write. or i'll write a matthew-poem. a leaf-poem. a dave or vaughan or tully poem. the only one who writes poetry i think is actually jacob. it's nice poetry, too. about sweat and love and loneliness. all these women.
when you call, i'll be sleeping.
when you call, i'll be eating a peach in silence. i mean slices.
when you call, i'll be trying, lying, spying on the doctorman in green scrubs who lives in the building next to mine. his bonsai needs water. he sets it on a paper towel and gives it a bath. looks at me funny.
when you call, i'll be peeing in the tiny bathroom, investigating my fun-house facial reflection in the silver faucet. my eyes are so goddamned big sometimes. no wonder.
when you call, i'll be banging out something on the typewriter. it'll say "when you call, i'll be angry. when you call, i'll be trying to be so angry," and it won't work.
when you call, i'll be a pacifist.
when you call, i'll be a buddhist.
when you call, i'll be a waitress. thanks very much. hope you enjoyed yourself. come back soon.
.
when you call, i'll be making lasagna in a quiet kitchen listening to my voice in my head. i'll be just beginning my fall pledge-drive, trying to raise the vibe, or the roof, or the stakes. someone sad will call in and pledge their thirst or their art or their love, and i'll accept.
when you call, i'll be in the bathtub filled with ice. i run so much my legs are like lamp-posts. because i can't keep my feet still. because someone is always around threatening a game of tag. because i want to be faster than everyone, just in case.
when you call, i'll be writing a jacob-poem. a poem like jacob would write. or i'll write a matthew-poem. a leaf-poem. a dave or vaughan or tully poem. the only one who writes poetry i think is actually jacob. it's nice poetry, too. about sweat and love and loneliness. all these women.
when you call, i'll be sleeping.
when you call, i'll be eating a peach in silence. i mean slices.
when you call, i'll be trying, lying, spying on the doctorman in green scrubs who lives in the building next to mine. his bonsai needs water. he sets it on a paper towel and gives it a bath. looks at me funny.
when you call, i'll be peeing in the tiny bathroom, investigating my fun-house facial reflection in the silver faucet. my eyes are so goddamned big sometimes. no wonder.
when you call, i'll be banging out something on the typewriter. it'll say "when you call, i'll be angry. when you call, i'll be trying to be so angry," and it won't work.
when you call, i'll be a pacifist.
when you call, i'll be a buddhist.
when you call, i'll be a waitress. thanks very much. hope you enjoyed yourself. come back soon.
.
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