You stare at your coworker drinking coffee
and the coffee is screaming
because life is unpredictable
and the rules were all written by dead people
and no one can measure how far away the sky is.
The letters and numbers on your screen
are swirling like galaxies.
The fork from your lunch
You arrive at long last
after uncountable eons
to the valley of blue lilacs.
A dragon made of pink roses and old books
rises up from the foliage to meet you
and asks if you have any weapons.
You show it the space in your mind
where your armory used to
They tell scary stories about fake werewolves
because they don’t want you to know about the real kind.
They want you to be frightened
of their nature and their name.
They don’t want you to go looking for them
in willow groves and abandoned factories,
in refugee camps and ghost
Bad people sharpen their teeth on old car parts
and stick pins into soft creatures.
They stare at you intently
figuring out how to take you to pieces
and plant your bones in the earth to grow slaves.
You and I are not like the bad people.
We like it
They always teach the young
about the bank and the police station,
but they never tell them
about the cuckoo clocks behind their faces
or the ghost whales swimming in the streets.
They say look both ways and don’t eat drugs,
but they never say
God is copulating with your field
Quiet on the set, please!
I need more light on her face.
More powder, she’s sweating like a pig.
I don’t know, must be all the lights.
Okay, I think we’re about ready to start.
Lean into the mic please, Caitlin?
Yeah, just lean right into it.
We really need
In The Garden
In the garden there are owl orchids and eye orchids
and a bench made of cyclops ivory for the weary wanderer to rest
and settle in to the meat of the moment.The air is saturated with pollyn and resonant whirring
as prismatic vortexes move from sunflower
Suggestions From A Very, Very, Very Old Friend
Be suspicious of anyone who keeps telling you who they are,
because they’re trying to control your story about them.
Be doubly suspicious of anyone who keeps telling you who you are,
because they’re trying to control your story about you.
Singing on the Deer Docks
They mostly leave me alone
because my face is badly scarred
and my voice is tattered and frightening.But every once in a while
someone asks me, why?
Why do you sing here day after day
on the deer docks where the black seagulls laugh?
Why do you
Here We Stand Naked and Dauntless in the Junkyard
I told him my womb was scarred from births and cruel men.
He told me his flesh had been whipped by monsters.We grew eyestalks and earstalks and went out to the Dune Boons
where old boat and train bones