BODY SHEDDING ITS OWN BODY
I’ve been running along the outskirts
of Akron searching for a place to put
all of this body feeling like I’m just
a broken brake pedal can’t stop
thinking about how my father
is made of gasoline you should
see how he makes everything
burn like our hardwood floors my mother
’s tongue the glass coffee tables clocks
set 35 years backwards beige love seats
deflated pillows porcelain cups my skin
keeps glowing a bright
ember listen to the way the fire
cracks then sizzles listen
sometimes there’s nothing you can do
but strip to bone so that there’s nothing
more to burn.
KEEP CLEAR OF ME: I AM MANEUVERING WITH DIFFICULTY
**Title and some lines of the poem “Keep Clear of Me: I am Maneuvering with Difficulty” taken from the children’s book Alpha, Bravo, Charlie: The Complete Book of Nautical Codes by Sara Gillingham**
constructivism is an obsessable task,
sometimes i wish i were none of it
i hate to classify things as bad or good
but how does the dark become something
entirely different in the same space?
are they similar?
particles dusted off, painted anew
by some glassy-eyed god or something
i want to feel my skin rip off because
how do you get hurt so bad and it
just because i want to feel myself burn
doesn’t mean i want to see it
night is yawning,
asking dawn to take over,
only i want to stay a little longer,
sitting outside beside you.
we're taking in the scene together
with backs up against a brick wall
our knees, thighs even arms touching.
the bass beat still pumps from inside,
our fingers strumming in perfect time
watching those ready to leave go home .
other same sex couples are embracing,
coming out onto the cooling street.
the boys are being funny bitching
by a group of glamour girls we know.
we're all laughing at their camp jokes.
out come the Drag Queens reaching
for their designer sunglasses, whipping
off their stilettos like weary models
while we find out if everyone had fun.
the sunrise is bouncing light yellow
off the warehouse's across the road.
we hear the Scene Queens talking softly
dissecting the best parts of the night,
while handsome androgynous girls
dressed in men's wear, soft butch style,
keep hoping to hold an interested stare.
nearly everyone is devouring a Hot Dog
or waiting in the queue by the food truck,
as satisfied hands rise to hail a taxi ride.
i adore this time outside gay clubs,
after being out all night partying
surrounded by the forged strong.
these gay people, my queer kind,
so, so many fought for kisses linger
like hard earned victory in the air.
lighting up my last Dunhill Blue
enjoying all of our silly banter
the dance music stops playing,
see, the bouncers are even going,
time to make a wonderful decision.
which other home should we drive to?
whose bed will be best for two?
My mother is wearing her new
turquoise jacket - a warning flare.
My brother, his bedclothes.
I do not remember what my father
A child throws his grandmother's voice
in walkie talkie style cinema.
Girls with blue hair
go where you'd expect them to.
Paperbacks spilling dirty words
on my red shoes.
A woman finds a box for me.
Languidly, I uncurl -
surprise lilies in the rain,
the white bread days of August.
In this height of splendor,
I am tense.
Every woman with thick bangs
is you. Every Saturday
without a second cup of coffee.
mumbled into a snowstorm.
I am a tiger, yowling
in a gauze cocoon.
I am waiting for
the avalanche of smoke
that will smother me.
All this pink
cannot live here.
the uncertain consequence of violent waves
like feeling everything all at once
these discrete instances
moving too quickly (see: movie frames)
(see: memories) (see: blooming)
cut off all your hair while we're waiting here
everything is different from everything
we speak in polaroids and sand
each new feeling presenting itself timidly
like a bud emerging through the frost
you young buildings with your opalescent fish scales
you sky with your never-ending potential