Sometimes we look at each other.
Sometimes we tell each other secrets,
and you keep mine, and I keep yours.
Sometimes we change our appearance to please someone,
and it just disappoints someone else.

the baby next to me is teething
and screaming
and I can't seem to make him notice me.
I can never make him notice me, no matter who he is.

I'm going darker.
Why?
Just a little bit.
Why?
I just want to.
Her eyes are assessing me
and making me change colours.

the cats are pawsitively exhausted
the cats are hoping for sun
and dancing in the rain
o joy!
the music is playing indoors
so they cannot even hear it.
It makes you wonder what it takes to be happy.
Sometimes I don't know.

Sometimes we touch,
but never completely.
Sometimes I call you and you don't answer,
sometimes you do.
Sometimes we share,
but it isn't often.

Wrap a scarf about your hairy neck,
something fur—something warm.
Drive an iceberg,
but don’t fall asleep at the wheel
(that is far too typical).

Follow the red dots lining the edge of the sky,
they will lead you to the drop-off
so you won’t be late for school
or work.
But leave time for coffee,
and always ***.

Listen to talk radio,
it will keep you in good humor
make your hair grow longer
fix your handwriting.
It is always important to listen with only one ear,
for you never know when God will speak.

Limit yourself to one meal a day.
You will shrink, sprout wings,
like the taste of beetles.
Remember the name of your grandmother, though,
it will be the password.

If your hair is long enough,
untie it and let it become a river.
It will stretch for miles
and you will never want for water,
but you might miss the stars
so watch closely, they like to play tricks.

Paint the trees blue;
they have never been that color.
And wash your hands—
the fine is hefty for changing things too much.
People become confused
and get lost when they do not recognize their own driveway.

When you arrive, present your passport,
show the whites of your eyes—
it is the only way to prove that you’re real.
You will melt and fall silent
your hands will become blue
(don’t worry, you are safe here).
No one will speak to you if you remember your ancestors.

Soon, you’ll reach the edge of the world.
Take off your shoes and drop them first.
Make your presence known
it is good to be small and silent,
that way, when you jump from the crumbling cliff of Earth
and you fly,
everyone will think you fell.

The window was open and the fan was on
as long drags of cigarettes filled the bedroom.
"Sure is a pretty sunset, Louise,” Mark commented
his eyes were on the horizon.
“Yeah,” she breathed,
her eyes were on her reflection in the mirror before her,
cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.
“You didn’t even look.”
Louise fixed her hair and took another drag of nicotine.
Mark watched her reflection too,
this time she wiped eyeliner from her face.

“You’re pretty.”
He got up and touched her hair.
“Gorgeous.”

He moved down her back to her waist,
his fingertips trickling like water
from a fountain.
His lips grazed her neck
and her shoulder
and he stuck his face in her hair
and breathed in her smell
and all the while she watched her own reflection.

Disgusted, she shifted and kissed him like she knew he wanted.
She kissed him hard and *****,
like she hadn’t kissed him before.
He wiped his mouth. She felt like an animal.

“You taste like freedom,” he said
after rubbing his face in pleasure.
“****, I am free,” she cursed.
She lit another cigarette and glanced at the sunset,
then back to her waiting reflection.

Some things are just prettier than others.

Dry tongues make for slow lies,
you prefer to use yours for kissing.
I can feel morsels of clam
between my nails, beneath the skin
but never touching—
that's impossible.

the time that counted your whiskers is still ticking,
and I am beginning to think you lied about being a cat
all I hear are dance beats in my shower.

it's not working any more to be red than it is to be any other color.
I'd gladly paint you
I'd gladly tell you exactly what you don't want to hear
even though it's not something I'm particularly good at
(it takes practice)
like ****** ******* with someone you don't love
or laying still.

there are people like you with ***** gym socks, who kiss their friends' older brothers,
who are always too late, who love something separate, who are small,
who forget to feed their cats,
who never say sorry,
who never say excuse me,
who never eat,
who never breathe,
who never remember.

tell those people for me:
if there is a time where no speech is readily available,
speak of something sad, or something incorrect.
ears are never ready to hear something they don't want to
they build up immunity
like blood cells,
but not really.

I must say, your skin looks nice when you lie,
we do like all the same things,
and have all the same mannerisms,
you are handsome,
I am gentile,
we are alone.
use six words.

I will gladly paint you any color,
as long as you supply the paint.

I followed your footprints for nearly three miles
before I realized what I'd forgotten, and by then I was three miles away.
It was neat, clean, and all in order,
but that didn't make it any less wrong;
you know all I want to feel is right.

I keep having this feeling that you love me, but you're afraid to say it.
It's almost enough to make me free,
and I've been liberated before, but not the way I am now.
Everything's new at this point, which puts you in a different section of my life,
and my heart.
I still wish you wouldn't change who you are
just because I've changed who I am.

It's that moment of seeing something you never saw before,
or the second where you know your hand fits perfectly into his;
the way you sound when you sing,
or look when you dance,
or feel when you cry from happiness,
or eat a something you made yourself,
or clean your room,
or shower,
or fall in love.

The light coming through my window streaks the ***** floor,
but there's something in the floating dust
and the garbage on the carpet
that is infinitely
beautiful.

She leaned in close to me
and She whispered, "there is no secret"
but I turned away,
and I held my hands closer than love.

She leaned in so close to me
that our noses pressed against glass,
and She held my cheekbones in the curve of Her thumb
until I was light
and pulsing
"there is no secret." She told me
again
again
still I did not believe Her.

She held me closer
until we were bone against bone, our flesh
unbuttoned and heaped on the floor.
but I turned away, bones clattering
we were just two skeletons in a closet, and I yearned for Her
"but there is no secret" she would tell me,
so I closed my eyes and wept, waiting only
for a simple answer.

“there is no secret”
She hummed to my cold, solid tears
Her thumbs held where my cheekbones had been,
eyes gleaming with my emotion,
“look at yourself.”

in a dark, cluttered room where nothing shone before,
Her fingertips glowed,
and I felt myself
covered in feelings I distantly recognized.
She unbuttoned my shell and laid it
on the floor next to my skin and bones
smiling, She said “there is no secret”
and I held Her, nose pressed against glass
nose pressed against nose
nose
nothing.

I'm a parody to mythology,
the northern star to ***** pilgrims with no teeth.
I'm a staring contest with Clinton,
who lied through his skin about touching someone else's.
He wasn't alone the way he thought he was
I'm behind the gardenias, ******* to **** them
just to spite you. He touched inside my skin.

Eyes like raisins or melting almonds,
touch like hairy, pointed fingers,
snaps so loud that Santa's nose turns red in anger.
He can hear the voices of politicians over his music
like the roars of cars at night, when you're trying to fall asleep.
He sleeps with his round-rimmed glasses on, a bow tied around his ears for beauty.
babies' cries twang through his dreams
from the strings of a banjo, making his lips
yearn to speak, green with envy.

I could write for hours; I could write for minutes
she caresses his silky hair,
his **** hardens in class, and he leaves for cake.
He made enough moves on me, I saw them as they fumbled
limbs are too long for grace, for lies
brain is too tall for truths,
and the belt around her neck tightens in winter, like words ringing in your ears
as you walk out of the movie theatre.
It's true, now feel it.

His nose is long, his hair is skin calling through the television in 1993,
when he saw a new light like heaven opening up
but it was just a practical joke,
he's stuck on the stairway, no way up
no way down.
****
****!
****
who can he call? he left his phone at home with his eyes.
All he feels are feathers and minutes--
long, dreary minutes.
Finally a taxi comes, but he left his wallet.

Time passes more quickly than he counted on;
he's not ready to leave, he's not important yet,
not coherent, clairvoyant.
**** humans, **** the world, he doesn't deserve it's kind of behavior,
but as soon as the clock is fixed
God will let him up. He has no doubt, no dreams
just fingers shaped like leggos.
He was a comedian with serious jokes, the kind that
made you weep solid tears and ice cubes.
The wives of men would watch him and frown,
thinking of how much money to slide under their sheets
for when they grabbed their kids from the shops and left their husbands.
Too much mess.
No sunlight.
Empty corners.
Fur coats.