my laughing river
banks the shivering pebbles
into silence—a hot, holy
moon that splits and crumbles,
rushes and spills into
a space vacu-ata and serene
loss of meaning

I never thought I’d miss you this much—
red, toiled, and soaked to the bone,
letters and numbers jumbled to bake
in hot mouths, hot atmosphere  

a shimmer
a shimmy
a bottle
and nurse a wound burnt with
a hair straightener ten years ago
dear friend,

I wear you on my shoulders everyday
and you are heavy,
sore to the touch,
cradled and band aid-ed cross
until
there you are
dreaming like you always did
in the back of my mind

I try to
loose the knot
tied to the dark

canvas of sky’s skin.
I confide to the rain
my wet lies of

noose,
trigger,
falling gun
taught against each bat
that swings and flutters.

what can I do but stand in the rain
and feel the hail melt in my hand?

I am of little
faith no longer than
a fingernail and proof
of OG goodness
this night of

re- and un-
tying ribbons

my complex jupiter pops
full body into
infectious night—mouth
bursting and bang
taught curtains
so the light can shine through
every cherry blossom
I

never asked
what I meant to you
before
you

pink in my watching

slip into
the miniature composition
of splotched blue—

and I know everything
in space
is finished

all my goodness has flown—
from the wildflower’s wrath to
my fingers

pressing invisible buttons on
grassy dew.
I

should know this season by now—
dry of meaning and bent metal
into the frozen river.

the note I wrote you was short—
spoke of moons we cannot see
and my rushing ego
drowning mountains
on tiny blue-green surface—
a million

bleached bones
are wrapped in their tired stripes—
now crushed,
miniature,
and multiplied—
many of the many

and the red feathers that float

away.

milk warm and
child rotates backwards in womb

clouds become the drums

angels in the front row cheer
as men fight over screaming throat

woman smokes with dragon—
never before corked *****
and the ash that settled over

this is my innermost truth:
a dwell of birds inside my body

and I think so little of myself

I shred you as cedar
to eat your smell—
a crick of words to ultra face-off
between bone-splitter and bliss
I

am your writer
and my heart’s cavalry
pounds your lips
with sweetness
the

submission of sugar
the

taste of honey
the

number of times
I’ve

had you in comb
buzzing your fuzz-ectomy
into a new mind of flower
to be pollinated
with the lilac breeze
of my going

high-noon sun waits for
ground to catch her beaming child
dresses the hat and feather
canonizes the dead worms
imprisoned in their hardened skins
these

shards of you
sit on my front porch
wide
wide
and I open my arms
to their concrete daughter
now full-grown
and working the night shift
like every bird that flies

into my glass dream