without indeterminacy

I am heavy bored with criticism.
Your new lover has a light and congenial gravity.
I remember your wrists. and sing.

Minus antecedents: The final interrogation of no

Alright. Tell me one more time about the racecar.
About how your bike is better even if it’s not more safe –
because it doesn’t go that fast – but somehow you’ve shown up
so far. No, no. The last thing I need is a diagram.
Maybe we should go back to yesterday. There was a yellow house
and two stick figures in the yard. What do you mean they were superheroes?

As in: Wonder Twins activate.
In the form of a light post and the disembodied bumper of your car.
Very funny. What did the house do. It yellowed.
Its memory was the least safe
dream of us all. We wanted to be architects then so we made plans
to blow it down. Neither of us was invited to the show.

Wait a minute. Are you trying to sell me intermission?
I came here for lollipops and acrobats and even snow.
Now there are no words but there’s a diagram
and you’re telling me “Don’t worry. It’s a race
not a joke.” Do you remember your safe
word? No. What’s a safe word? It’s like house -

it’s out of context, it means no. You’ll be fine. Just remember: yellow house
(out of context) = no. But I was here a year ago and they were playing the same damn show.
It’s not that I think I’m unsafe it’s just that some people are falling (do you think I’m unsafe?)
and some people are flying and I can’t tell which ones are supposed to be the superheroes.
It’s ok, babe. I bought you a racecar.
And I want you to call it your brain. I drew a picture

of us on the back of my tongue and the diagram
drew the fixture right away. But what about the house
and the yard. The truth is there was never any yellow. There was only a car
and a car. Don’t get me wrong, they were nice cars. They always knew the way to the show.
I just can’t wrap my mind around precipitation.
We keep coming back to elephants and myspace and “safe”

words. I don’t know the difference between relationship. Between a net
made of fiberglass and an open window. The sentence and its diagram.
The ground that we move to make walls. Wonder twins,
activate. Where are you. In the form of a yellow house
and a bucket made of snow. Do me a favor, ok babe. Will you not show me
what you showed them at the show. One of us has a heart like a racecar…

It’s just that you’re an XX-man. and now I’m looking for a girl.
You wouldn’t believe the patterns I’ve seen on this racecar. I’d draw you a diagram
but I’m just not sure where it would go. Yellow house, relax. It’s ok. It’s just dress rehearsal.
I need you to save all that shit for the show.

latitude: perceived obsolescence: unplanned

(we lay there for months drawing back
tiny muscle. and grafting an exegesis of skin.)






My voice, which is the most terrible gift from me.
Indiscriminately. You refuse to touch me with sound.

I want you to tell me a story about unknowing me.
Even the mirrors have become bars we lean against.
Even the body has become a gift we regret.

Either way, I showed up today with my cast on.
With what I wouldn’t give to hear you say Technicolor.
With a guitar and an E string that sticks to itself.
With elephants and a memory of what was found.






It is hard to imagine there are fingers
that do not belong to me. That speak a language to
your body I do not know.

Come closer love, and do not diminish me.
These, which are the politics of our nevering
and you, who are a fistful of duet.
Pressed generously in the girders of my back.






It is not so much that we are
unbroken. Standing like a cyclone
on the periphery of that door.

The cataracts of leaving distinguish me.
And yet. I believe in this retrieval. You,
who are an elliptical. a sweeping. a banishment.

Come closer. Rest my hand on that fragile.



























Yesterday.

A silence we begin for.

And yesterday.

The crossing nothing comes.

territories of folding

This cannot be another year about ___________ (unknowing). I was my mother’s daughter and then a series of days came. They were not unlike a rock garden on the dinner table. I brushed the ground and made a lifejacket of fence posts. We committed suicide and she called me her sum.


































Pushed in a closet and bleeding.






If this is 1989:

your sister did that to your nose.




















sometimes I believe I am a hallway. (I take back the whole part about transitioning.) and this is what I keep trying to tell you about desperation. (if I could I would suffer more in that liminal.) my wish which is a faulty maintaining. the tender of a slightly turned knee. (I am the least brave person that I know.)






































It’s spelled s-h-e but the s is silent.

Isn’t that the way it is anyway. No two plurals in the world.























And what of CPR in the first place.


Play dead, little sister, be a good girl.
I’ll be the boy and I’ll save you.


This is air in your lungs and you are now
breathing. It is important to me that you
remember the difference. This is
resuscitation. Not blood or a kiss.