in the back of Joanna's Volvo, she devours me -
she tells, her full mouth, that her specialty is geography

she's going in -
and biology.  deep.

she wants no church to confess, her wet lips to mine is enough to tell / for this story:

encyclopedia before butterfly
the chrysalis dissolves  

a moth, a mess
her mouth of silk.

a pretty place to fall apart -
Joanna says, between breaths not sure mine or hers:
she needs me to be one

I don't see her anymore. She transfers quickly thereafter.

Breathe, chrysalis breathe.

they spin but do not drop away
I think of her.  inside, soft mass and waiting.

she never told me how they fight their way out -
what cuts through the thick?

she never told:

how they must feel, spread and magnificent, when they'd been ready to die

how cold and bright, the sudden belonging.

1.
small talk
legs flayed
she says
nothing

a lady
says nothing

right foot on the dreaming wall
shift,

2.
she says i
could have been a son

tap the ***** bone, twice

will my knee,
ankle bend, sweet tooth?

point out where
the corners *****

here, bare

3.
I hate how everyone here has
two fif teens
four thur tees

I have no time
and half a poem

4.
will you be here?
one *** em

5.
the hills know i
could have been a son

my chest is sharp i
am not soft like her

i cannot hold this pose
as long

So come.

6.
prodigal who?
placeless,

desperate curve
hug the lonely back

it's one for tee.

7.
no hills. no
streams no trees no
arms
no fingered palms inside me

useless curve,
reach.

8.

i am the sun

lunchtime, my
appointment

tomorrow, placeless
prodigal

one *** em, when
I am softest when all
edges are hot to burn

softness you want to hold
but won't.

this is
this is a mantra
this is a prayer
repetition repetition
not a call to arms

no, we aren't speaking
at least we aren't screaming
at each other.

a small victory.

the solace
the requiem,
& the apology -

we abandoned magic, so long ago
looking for 'at last'
and got lost.  

but, the at least.
thank god for
at least.

april is the cruelest month
says the girl born in spring

i've opened the door, to close it
so many times.  admired sunrise
to curl up in the dark and weep

you'll remember the colors, the breeze.
how temperate, how hopeful the season.

& she
hot, cold, gone -

on her stoop,  hands on her hips
her legs akimbo - a child

the waves rising from asphalt
her dancing calves

she'll wipe her brow -- say finally
and go.

& they'll say: but winter is over
see the days grow long -

all ask:  what happened in april?
springtime was coming around.

High on the I-40
Been up since six no *** and
Fighting

****** in trucker motels, facing west.
cabbies lit, white plate gifts
for the barefoot women  
the wet haired

siamese, their black soles
From room to room

I could be a deity
I could be a ghost
and stay

to watch the sky  
to relish the exit music
I wouldn’t be jealous  

I am the traveling type –
an ambassador, a fog

the ledge of an open mouth, snug
fingers under doors

there is one for whom I was made

and another by name by
line by go on, goodnight

I could take all the showers
and still be alright -  

I would take all of them, and still be alright.