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King Panda Jul 25
Earlier I saw you untie the Fox
It was in the high branches
But you were fearless/
A reflection in the sky’s acred field
As you set the captive free
To fill his mouth with soil

You put your sister in his place
Her hands bound to the trunk as
Cars yank the highway closer
To the park of ratway silence

Pick up the pen for her
Write how it is easiest
To crawl when you are
Tied and drooling
When you take the place of
A martyr and expect nothing
Except something
Blue and brindle-striped and barking

Day: you and I take a little white dog
Tie her to the tree and call her our own
Tell her to come and sit and eat
With us around the tree while
We tie each other’s teeth to the roots
With fraying wire

Are we so tired? We ask.
Two too many separations.
Two too many rescue missions
And forgetting how to keep things close

Tie the cross-stitched sister to your liking—
Maybe a bow tie or braid but
Imagination only binds itself when
It is allowed to be bound

Osophy: yet you still danced
To what is
What is
What is
What should be leaves falling now
Is the sky
What should be leaves falling
What should be
What should
King Panda Jul 11
clouds are knotted over—
soft q-tip plunge
into your mopped halo.
time dilates
itself into big rain, big thunder—
a concentration of stringed lights
hanging on a rusted picture wire

I’ve written this before but
we are nothing but bones underneath—
mortal refuse cooling in the shade
until our joints are locked
and we toboggan down
with tight jaws

seeing the physical doesn’t mean
you can see—
the tendency to blindfold oneself
snuggles inside judgment,
moves inside the tracks like a swallowed pearl
until you dig through
and find the bruised dream

I let the lightning roll off of the
table, spill on the wood floor.
I don’t mop it up;
I no longer buy the delusion
of messes made. I **** the
electric lemon. feel my face go
cold and numb. succumb to
the dominant, coronal moonshine.

here we are—heaps in the corners
of a corner-less world. we hook things
like fish. we perform fire drills. we love
the act of escaping.
here we are—piles of human, our knees
in our hands.

the next strike comes. ommmmmms into omen.

in this cardboard kingdom, our houses sag
when it rains and we crouch down to survive.
but I will always remember the clouds,
driving knots into your cells as the roof
fell in. and we were both soaked. both sacks
of pearled bones.
King Panda Apr 23
In the place of bright dust
We ransack the sun
Back from her bed
We stretch high/baseball bat/wood
Crack in earthen shower
You are there behind the fence
Holding the baby
On easter sunday
We walk in wedding circles
Discuss the tropics, somewhere
On your back I write
Sixteen dances/crickets in tall grass/waves melting shore rocks
I pour you coffee as you squeeze the yolk in deviled eggs
And I fumble with the crepes
Halfmoon/full/french peninsula/the photograph of your riding a merry-go-round
Full, wordless smile
I search for the soothing leak that
Sleeps with frankincense
First, nameless day/nameless, silent bowl
You place the fruit in stained glass
Watch the skins reflect blurred jet-plane/kind sky
What’s left is my burning muscles
Aching for you in tiny flint
Your lips
Your thing that bleeps with breath
With the empty canteen
I leave it in the car
Cigarette kiss to your bird,
My best friend
Cuddled in croissant
You  make rain a baker’s dozen
The body inhales
King Panda Mar 9
I write you to sleep
in the other room
the leaves and fire of
your dream wisdom,
a dosha to create
each particular function
wrought in sweet, bitter, uncanny can-can
last night I saw you
in the rain with my
jean jacket
you asked about your face
and read me
catholic gospel/the body’s innate wisdom
free of threadworms, windup toys,
each nasty gut of wind
when I love you
I always see you in white
(this is all the time)
and you clear the toxins
from my accounts,
hold up my husband by
his flags,
tell him to

there is a pearl at
the bottom of us
and we touch it with
un-bitten fingers
this essential does not
go unnoticed in
our hearts but
ties our mouths so
we cannot speak—
a grammar lesson on love
and checkmate of birdwings
you awaken
come out for your phone
tell you to go back to sleep
you smile

I have so much to love god for
King Panda Feb 18
I shaped you like a door handle,
washed you out with cerulean trees,
I took the clippers to my head
to make myself clean

I stared in your sigh as I
I grabbed your waist and swung you in
rope coo-coo,
eyes you described as muddy pools
turned lime-green cats in bathroom light

you had blond hair,
barely-visible eyelashes,
tall, norwegian beauty,
outer-universe olympian

I was not right within and
you saw, unphased moon again
for the billionth time,
you rolled at my tiny bubbles
and I
waited, baitable breath

every clock was digital 80’s
and you, polite queen,
were tired of holding your spoon—
candy bride

with this candy man,
little bride, little
my worms festered
as I pulled the hair from your neck
and saw my own eye on your spine’s skin—
frail, too deep, and shy/additives to pain

I heard the big crunch
in that mental hospital bathroom,
my universe went back to no-space,
so far from you as we danced
and you looked somewhere else—

smaller than an atom’s nucleus
we were everything
but neither of us knew
the gift of dying
to be born again—
King Panda Jan 4
you dream
one-thousand pounds
heavier than me—
a weaved, night sky
complete with brass buttons
and the bobby pin you forgot to take out

tessellation of Sunday letter
haunts me with your

lace and peach
as my fingers conduct

the bundle of flowers
to smoke
King Panda Oct 2018
I dig into my pockets and find
gum wrappers
the invisible switchblade
of mirror ride and wind’s roll—

of diluted catastrophe
or how your mother screams in her sleep

now I understand how seasons
faint from peppered emotion—
strong enough for teeth
to bite and rip the leather
or at least scratch patterns into
that old belt

smooth breeze down the throat
tastes as September dies down
at the alley cat’s feet—
dead prayer
and the leaves swoon to
twitching whiskers
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