crested with the color of demons
those arches that ride on expression
and flushed petal of hearing
cradling my finger feeling it glow warmth
across the bridge of bone
concealing a slow-moving muscle
our hands were fabric-bound
by the friend who drifted out when talk did
to move into the open in the other
put hollow in hollow to fill somewhat
when words failed my head
ricocheted off thought
to land on shoulder
past forehead
you lifted me up and back
ditching the car
I tried to ease my way down the embankment
to the crumbling stone wall
my cliché to be photographed
picking my way
crushing delicate plants
upon seeing the spider
I retreated
up the road
I stood barefoot on the one-lane bridge
in my new long flowy purple
and photographed my sister
in her beautiful dress
I’d wanted to but
the cars passing
paid little attention
running onto private property
to quickly sit
CLICK
then back to the road
we passed the animal
unrecognizable but easily smelled
yards away
carefully not stepping on parts, heads down
backtracking our way to the car
avoiding blood
we pulled aside again
to change clothes in front of waving grass
then up the road slowly
to the entrance of the farm
and outside on the grass
I fell asleep with the orangy hazes of snow through atmosphere
tones faintly swaying as thought washed out into the smoky ices
and my visions were piled with little-known visages roaming
when I stirred there was no heat in me
the room was veiled in the greys of day before light
and strangely sudden sounds of music sped my mind
I realized I need in that funny soft hour
dream masks still laid on my sheets to offer asylum
and coverings to secure me from the penalties the outside demands
I bite tips of morning as I pass through sinews of night
watch a blooming illumination after seeing it diffused to dark
and unbearably thick moments loom on the edges of each hour
so difficult to grip the rising of the sun and join standing ranks
when I am throwing broken glass at the moon’s shadow all night
hush
and then I am rained
with whys
of us or me
am I still questioning?
faces in mine tell me nothing
but I just build a garden of them around
I loved knowing where to go down those roads. . .
dirt and green living rushing over in whispering dance
but oh these faces are so leading---and I don’t know
you and you and you all are looking, looking,
and I have no answer
only myself furnished with all I have ever believed
a body scarred
scathing wounds left their remarks on me
gashes gained through lapses
and I don’t care what the morning look like through your windows
bottle blues blowing cool and enfolding the night like our voices
I don’t know where you are
(literally, literally, you have no home)
and the only images are of your maybe fingertips pressed to the neck
flickering over each other in the silence
you gave me nothing but an hour to look in
and I am so angry that you didn’t look in my eye
damn I cannot keep the question out of that one
I am so struck that you knew them
they just run around my head so much I forget they are real
so when is this going to happen
like his face past me on the sidewalk, I’m carrying that brick
so when can I start the construction (oh, the site)
are you going to answer?
but now I am talking to panes of glass with blackness breaking
on the other side of my walls in the sky
and I can melt into sleepy
a few times before I sleep you stripe through my drifting
thank you blank (you)
reach out your long fingered
white skin-gloved hand
in slow motion to rest one
warm elliptical tip
on the top of my cheekbone
near my eye, my hairline, my little smooth
run down to the corner of my lip
there I smile
then your finger, “too shy, shy”
flies back to the curve of the pocket---
right pocket---of your jeans
you’re looking down
as if to ward off demons of sight
but when you look up
your eyes like a child, bright, clear
I guess there aren’t any monsters
your lashes are steady
you seem so sure of it
when your hand reaches to the back of my head
pressing my hair against me
my palms pulled the color of plums
from the friction touching taut sheets
tears tore my mouth open onto eyelet
consciousness tried to pretend I held control
holding a hand behind my head
shaped like a gun empty and aimed at nothing
yes I wave hello to the beckoning black
think of the smooth sounds sliding in would yield
here I hit myself into objects that eat
my noise like the new bedding
but it burns its pattern into me
you do not care and I cannot
tell you what you do not want
you set me swinging harder to see
the last night: under water
the thick ropes of rain
dangled down from the eaves
and flew into the wide windows
picking up the canvas in a twirl
Lennon in the crystals of light
and the river like black glowing lava
reflecting the lights but stretching their white
the crowns and shoulders of tree up with navy
that closed room with its own air
pull-towel like we used to wipe our skates
in the dark red alcove, light shining above the door
thin webs visible along the windowpanes
fingers closed on the wet branch
the leaves green like taut skin, luminous
hands pulling the liquid tail of skirt inside
it is a grey weight
rolling inside me
the perfect words
ringing like gold
and they are not mine
your voice tells a story
saying I am not your child
I cannot be taught or held
you leave me like my father
falling out of the sky to others
leaving me to look over terrace rails
looking for the path
I am so empty I echo
it hurts to feel the shudder of
those repetitions
the hollow reconstruction
of something like a rose petal
without its silk
all I do is hear you
unfairly because I can’t even
touch your face
too often
you blow your sound to me
and I try to preserve its silver bubbles
but they vanish into black
so quickly
and without eyes to speak
maybe marble would shine me like I should
cold fingertipping out to touch things
I think of how chilled I would be
the world is outside of
my open eyes
open clear pale but useless
I cannot take myself to where I should be
not only because
I can give it no name
but because stone feet
do not carry you there
and so I try to feel my solidness
with a hand rested on my hip
beneath blanket
above jeans and I feel their blue
bleeding into me
just as I feel
the thickness of shadow
in the small hollow of my clavicle
my bones are alone
like me they jut
outward
but are fastened close to each other
by my skin
they reach to break out of me
so unhappy
but so comforting to me
soothing away anxious flutters
with their stable positions and quiet stance
if only all of me was pure and hard
as bone
I would be bright
collecting rainwater and reflecting the sky
and
