i, churchmouth, stand witness.
is this shame or is it heaven?
i, churchmouth, am an idiot.
-
a jar of moths. one fluid ounce of menstrual blood. a deck of cards, but a few are missing. i needed them. trade me for a hand of glory? or even a birthday candle?
-
when caught i will bleed heavy from a cursed wound near the shoulder. there will be an ashtray, though. if you want to save me.
-
watching the dog breathe, i count mississippi seconds. it feels nice in my mouth. familiar,  but not mouth-familiar.
-
god and i lay side by side in the grass. sunbathing, but we're in the backyard because we're not total heathens. anyway, god has better **** but i have a nicer ***. we agree our stomachs look like separate paintings in the same museum. this is perfect, i tell god. god laughs. i'm drinking orange juice out of a plastic jug. god is eating flowers from a beaded purse. you wanna know something i love about humans, god waves a hand and two cigarettes appear like magic. what is that, i ask. i don't have a lighter. i feel something in my mouth, and i pull a flower out. oh- ya know, god says. another wave and our cigarettes are lit. god stuffs more flowers into my juice. how it hurts.

(god the fruit is hungry)

are we all exhibitionists to the angels? are we hot?
-
i lead a beast up and down a concrete hallway. the beast holds his own rope because my hands choke a feather from the bird we shared for dinner. god speaks to us from somewhere hidden in the ceiling. this is how you control the weather. but i think god says feather, so… the feather must be important. i offer it to the beast. he is silent. he stands like a man and hangs his rope from heaven. and yeah, i’m scared. i always act like things don’t bother me. but i don’t think this is what god meant by controlling the weather, so i say, take it with you. it was yours the whole time, wasn’t it? i’m so sorry. please-
-
the bear, the ghost and god walk into a bar.
i forget the rest of the joke,
but imagine the ghost in a bar. imagine the songs.
-
scopophilia, or i am found near the fruit display at the grocery store by a stranger sharpening knives and dressed like sunday. i turn, and see the stranger surrounded by disciples holding whetstones. they begin peeling the fruit on the table. i move to help them when the stranger stops me. i could smell it from across the building. your dew heavy breath. it will fell the trees along my fence. it will take years to fix. who told you it was okay to walk ruin into honest places? how long have you been doing this? someone has to stop you, witch. will it be me?
-
i am in the middle of confessing this body is “not made for rain” when god brings a snowstorm to ***** me. i think this is typical. moon sports, man. and i’m annoyed. i tell god, **** this. i tell god i hate them, and then i slam doors. this hurts no one. i go into the basement and find the book of poems i hid behind another book of poems. i put on my bathing suit. the green one. i shave my legs, and i bleach the tub when i’m done i say, i’m going to do it myself, and god rolls their eyes because, yes, to god i am still a child. i am always a child. zombie boyfriend, god asks. yes, i say, because i’m rotting, and doesn’t everyone want to be wanted? and isn’t this how you did it? god peers into the bubble of my cauldron. orange peels, egg shells, little idols of devil men. god reaches in and pulls out my favorite thong, but puts it back. i add handfuls of snow. frantic handfuls, like handfuls of ghosts. i had a bigger bathtub, god says. but this encourages me, and i know the bathtub needs flesh. every bathtub needs flesh. i’m about to climb in when god stops me and says, you need more salt. i’ll bring different weather tomorrow. don’t gloom, girl.

god, i am sad. i don’t tell god. i know it’s not important.

(katabasis)
(for rita dove)

the mare.

a red deer runs across the tv screen, bolt jutting from its neck. hornless. heavy around the middle. the weapon reminds her of other hunters. she prefers knives herself. something short handled. something that feels the bone. the mistress turns off the tv. it’s her birthday, and she’s getting ahead of herself. stealing eidos, some would say. but that’s already hers, isn't it? it was given to her- along with the fingers. the soft, curled ears.
...
it was something of an event, but she doesn’t like talking about it. and that’s how the whole world ended up believing the story her mother told. her mother, who- let’s be real- lost a few snakes in that cave. the mistress was born that night, sure, but she was also… found… by the goat… who led her to the cave… by song. and the mistress always... knew ****. she stole eidos from the beginning. a bit psychic, she guesses. a touch of the precog. so when the goat did come... she saw the body in the reeds… and she herself was found… wanting… so she was led [clopping] through the marsh. through the woods. to the mountains. to her mother.
...
the cave was dark, and it was disgusting. but- this is what will give you hands, the goat said. it was... the act. i heard you talking to the nymphs… i heard you say… you wished you had fingerprints. and, sure, this was all true. but the mare didn’t understand. the cave was dark. the woman was weeping. there was a foul scent coming from a pile of hay.
...
but then the mare saw what happened. the defiler/ father gouged a horse sized bed inside the woman/ mother. this won’t work, she told the goat, but… he was so… sure… it was done to me, mare… i was told… by a speaking head… lettings beget beginnings… if they are attractive to them. and the mare had heard of the head. she’d heard of the them. so she was convinced. it didn't take much, did it?
...
so she went to her, saying, come. let us create the effigy. and, hoof in hand, they did. they cut the hair from the mare’s neck. they tore delirious snakes from the woman’s ergot fattened crown. the bottomfeeder/ father left a few things lying around, so they used those too. but not as… organs… no, they were trophies. dolphin hand. wooden body.
...
and then the mare climbed inside her mother. at first nothing happened. the unwombed goat laughed, and the mare was afraid it wouldn’t work… but then she knew it would. the body of a horse started to take shape around her… or she became… the form of another- and when she grew eyes she could see… her old horse… was to be her brother. and he was beautiful. and yeah, she was sullen about that. the mare didn’t know she was beautiful.
...
and now she has hands, sure, but she has to wear these long gowns to cover the hooves. and when she… came-to-body… when she grew-up… she got a tutor. and she was given a box. eidos. the mistress knew all about the box. did she want it? no, but here we are. it’s her birthday. her sister is coming up for the occasion, and she will bring granate apples. pimpled, roe-like, inside-the-body-of-mother-growing-horse-like granate apples. the mistress doesn’t think her sister does this on purpose, but who cares. she doesn’t care.
...
the box is heavy on her thigh, and she turns the tv back on. animal masks/ oiled bodies/ dismembered limbs. it’s her birthday, and soon the dancing will begin. it will spread like fire through her mother’s mountainside orchard. and later- later there will be… the reenactment… the parody of a gods greed… and that which it… brought to chance… and, oh- the box is whispering. the mistress lifts it to a soft, curled ear and listens-

and so there she stands
your daughter liberty
alone and weak
because you left her unattended
in a sundress and fireman's coat with blood
on her chin and her face contorted
for the cameras to see
stupefied on the edge of the gravel pit
with the confetti ash swirling in her hair
and her eyes filled with animal fear
as her slack body slams against the railing
and a swan song swells in her throat

they use billy clubs to beat back the rats
under the skull of the moon and
the fickle stars like frantic pouncing eagles
the neighborhood dying has scratch marks all over it
diamonds etched in storefront windows
and rollicking clouds of tear gas to make it fun
there's a ****** taking a **** out in the open street
and where's the flag? oh i remember
it's snagged on a parapet five stories up
burning in the ignored sunset between
the silent buildings

we are an enormous pile of sentient garbage
coming up from the rot wearing life preservers
advancing with the picket line tide
blowing flashbang death on flugelhorns
outside the framework of the 2-party system
invented by the mongrels in hollywood
guerrillas moving in troupes thru the city streets
filled with exhilarating hope and
plumes of smoke insurgents chanting
violence is american as apple pie

i keep my tv dark to reflect the flames
of the grocery store outside and my insides
feel ripped up, i've never had a shave this close
squish my denim body against the window like a telescope
to hear the growl from the depths under the city
this is the moment just before something big happens

this is the flashover
this is when the panic begins
there's a man in a tree out in palmdale and
i need the morphine to tell me it isn't my fault
i need my pastor to tell me god doesn't lie
tonight the fuses blew out on an entire continent
tonight i wept

meanwhile it's my lunch hour --
the sun burns the cinderblocks pink
12:40 on a thursday with sawdust in my hair
and a piece of lead pinched between
forefinger and thumb fighting the
sudden onset feeling of vivid panic
i'm obliterated by the sense of being alone and
lost outside the plexus of purpose

my docile body is being stretched open
i am churning unsexed and weak
weeping on the steel edge of hysteria
half gouged and puttering beneath
this burden of butterflies in my chest
the girl is a great distance away but
maybe she'll notice my plumage rising
and receding like a brittle sail on a
dark green sea or hear
my cells test the very limits of elasticity
diverging terribly into flamboyant aqueducts
and humming on the wind like
the plow tractor trumpeting in a far-away field

she is a fawn lying on a summer picnic blanket
sprawled on the rolling meadow as if it were a beach
a genuine beauty in the white of the sun's light
wearing a pair of reflective sunglasses holding
her face puckered up expecting a kiss
and a delicate fire surges through me
my eyes are blinded by the green grass
radiant all around her
and my pulse thunders inside my ears
longing to be immersed with her in safety
ripped up by a lust to be accepted and free
and folded together softly against the hard world

i am being hollowed out into electric rivulets
by the painful consciousness of my isolation
by the broiling heatwave of july against
the longest winter of my life
my heart aches in my front shirt pocket
waiting on my phone to light up or ring
and so i fill my ***** glistening torso
with what i hope is a lethal dose
of papaya-coconut water

for my birthday
god gave me ten thousand white birds
so i wouldn't be alone
but i am alone
and for the sake of no one
i'm still awake
hot under the electric lights
deep in my own soup
so i am writing to you
dear lover
i am flying to you
over the asylum's main gate
gliding amidst horns and headlights
and i hope you are home
curled in between cool linens
i am writing to you
in every poem i've ever written
badly, but with sincerity
small-voiced and whimsical
i am trying to love you
love me
i have no shame

After the ball game
on the high school
playing field
Shoshana is still

sitting there
with another girl
so I go over to her
and she blushes slightly

and I say
what did you think?
she looks at me
and says

not very good
are you?
I smile
no not much

but they will
insist I play
at least you're honest
she says

I am
best way
I reply
the other girl

stands up and says
don't want to play
gooseberry see you
later Shoshana

and she walks off
something I said?
I say
no I think she finds

boys embarrassing
Shoshana says
I look at her
sitting there

dark hair
long straight
bell will ring
in a minute

she says
best get back
towards school
she stands up

and I say
where do you live?
I live a little way away
I get a school bus home

she says
so do I
I say
I know you do

she says
you get on
the same bus
as I do

I look at her
do I?
yes you've not seen me
I get on as quick

as I can
she says
I see you though
a bell rings

from school
well see you later then
I say
and she's off

leaving me there
and I wander back to school
across the grass
watching her go

her slight figure
in the afternoon sun
taking note
of her neat ***.

What did that bit of skirt
want with you
this morning?
Ro asks

I look past him
outside the fence
at kids walking
onto the high school
playing field

just to talk

skirt's don't want
just to talk
they are always
after something
Ro says
want to tie you
down to something
or be their boyfriend
or something sad
like that

no just talk
and not much
of that
I say
she seemed nervous

with you
who wouldn't
and he laughs
anyway how about
a ball game?

Ok
I say

I look away from him
hoping to see
the Shoshana girl
but I don't see her

so I walk with Ro
on the field to play
and other boys
up ready to play

then I see her
sitting on the grass
with some other girl
and she waves
and I wave back

but don't go over
I'm playing ball
on the right wing

but gazing at her
was like hearing
an angel sing.

time killer.
eater of tomorrowz.

taste mini devastation. fall
like the hot wave of need

i am

into buckets of deceit. you

are sharp but my throat
is protected

by the hands of a god more
affected by my suffering.

i know.
i am blessed.

i advance upon the campground
of wayless disciples.

i feel cold. my presence as the un
wanted season / my

presence bright as detection and
wet with reason

[for being there].
the journey was warm,

full of tongues tropical
and otherwise.

i arrive wearing
nothing. the camp -

yellow with doubt. i say,
"this is so midwestern".

i drag the so behind
me like a dog.

the disciples eye
me like a dangerous animal.

i am a dangerous animal: reasons
[for being] shine wet like ****.