i devour you to hear you bang from within
screaming yourself thin

at night.

trying to reassure yourself
your food won't disappear

West.

Is this the way I should walk

On my toes, the nails

Digging into

This body

Do you claim it?

Do you claim me?

Do you claim these

Legs too thin to think?

Do you kill me

Then put me on the table

Do you wait for me to

Come back to life

Do you wait for

Breaths to

Regurgitate

Like clouds

Rolling out

Overhead

Like steam

Evaporating

Firework gunshots

Teething.

I drank milk out of the powdered factories

Milk of manufactured proteins 

and processed, punctured steel,

Robbed from the animals 

who could not feed 

their own young

She could not feed me 

with her empty breasts

I was too painful for her 

bare nipples

dried up with fear

at this creature

She fed me with a spoon

because she was too afraid 

of me, herself

Her body, her saliva, 

her teeth growing old

would not chew for me--

So I teethed.

I grew them so I could chew

for myself, for her

I grew teeth so I could tear her up

I grew so I could run

like a monster through the woods

fast

Mother,

I hide from you there,

trying to strip you from my skin.

today and yesterday
always slipping on
banana peels

rotten flavor.
rotten smell.

_________________

falling into something with the boy
who explains to you the meaning
of your name, the movement of stars
even on a cloudy night, the moment
of your birth, never mind
the minute, the hour, the day

the days of the year turning
colors of autumn's exhaling,
then peace of cold in our heads,
heavy, and heavier, till
our feet dragging on
in the snow, become weightless
and numb with happiness

(can you smell the cinnamon tea
when i speak)

________________________

he says to write
a poem about the woman
i love

i write
i love this woman
i love this woman

i write
lies

i write
i love
i love

i write
you
i write
you.

remanent of summer.

(what does it mean that it woke me up
when you walked away
when i pushed you
when i said no,
said no, when you said
i love you,
said it twice,
when i thought the same

but this is wrong of me,
and you,
laying one hand on my inner right
thigh, softly
but tightly
you were grabbing for more within me,
with one hand on my shoulder
you locked me in,
your hair quietly nestled
in the space beside my neck,
comfortable like matching puzzle pieces,
like lying in bed together,
morning or evening or
sometime in between,
like the scent of security,
like warm faint vanilla,
wafting through,
even after you were gone,
smelling like a remanent of summer.

this was the first dream that has stayed with me after gaining consciousness in a while.

this will be the candle to snuff before the wind blows it out
towards the field of dried yellow grass, hungry for water.

this is the kind of love i can never tell my mother about.)

the roof caved in.
just like that.
i told them

i need more time,
i told you
i need more time,

so they paused
and said
but all you have

is time.
then the roof caved in.
just like that.

before noon.

into the where to
 and the why

  lightly salted
  and lightly spiced

make my mouth itch
make the tongue crawl

  sands through the pine trees

  bury me in

    gathering dust

then letting it fall

my skin burns the fire bright.

going home.

there really is enough
sliding through the window for you

to catch your breath
to watch it rain

and watch it fade
away the world

always onward
new with old.

the why and the how i might never find out

he lies on the floor
her skin slides across
the hair on his legs
and the bites from yesterday's

pests
would they ever go away

name tags

how many years
have you breathed?

exhale

now will you
take me apart

set me on fire
now will you

inhale

now will you make
thirty years grow apart

again.

be then

be the snowflake in my hair

be the stranger's finger in my side, walking

be the laugh that came out of nowhere, headed north

be the chocolate melting on lips and teeth

be then, be there

be at the door when i bark

be at the light when i park

stopped, the car rolls back

then green, i go, i go

then be there

be there when i come.

when i hung up

he caught me crying.
the dog was trying

to comfort me.
he opened the door.

he closed the door.
the dog ran away

to him,
jingling tags.

notes.

all of my pores open to swallow

you, the air around you

in this summer weather

there is nothing to be drunk

sunglass on your face

soft and warm and light

the tiny hairs rise

if i could be the air

5.29.10

taking your beer in

talking your words out

two dots of you plop on my face

you spit slightly as you say

things i can no longer remember

wiping you away a bit

from the corner of my eye

the rest stays.

5.31.10

i breathe you out

bit by bit

do i love

the way you spit

words into my mouth

to be consumed

by the threnody

they are singing for you.

6.1.10

hot days make the souls on these cement roads

swarm, crash and burn

at each other's skin 

the faintest glow of noon is reflected back 

glaring at my forehead in drops of melting flesh

they love

the sweat drips

then they forget

memorial day

he kept me waiting

i walked on the bridge

leaning over to see the cars pass by and go

they keep going

i stand there bent

wondering if they see me as their lights 

turn the roads on at night

but their eyes are on the incoming distance

not on me

the present, or past, a figure looming

above, out of peripheral sight.

6.2.10

i tried to eat things to bring you back

your finger hooking unto the orange

peeling it back

the skin that did not hold

you tap your index and thumb together

feeling their stick and release routine

white pieces of orange pith 

you mince between your lips

i look at 

my neighborhood after dark

a little dot of tasteless that sometimes stays

but eventually you'd wash it off at night

they even out nicely

and i forget

almost everything

even holidays
even today

6.3.10

to keep it on film or in my mind storage

his suitcases keeping him slow moving 

down they sink

crushed my foot but it didn't hurt until

the train moved forward and took you on

i walked

turning dull

with each step

"suspire \suh-SPAHY-uhr\, verb: To utter with long, sighing breaths."

it hurts in the rain

rain falls on you

you on me

me, always missing just a few

few seconds when i think

think of lips sounding out

out of the dulled peace tones

tones of your mouth

mouth to mouth of mine

mine for the lost syllables i left behind

behind your hand

hand here, hand there,

there it was

was that all

all is not enough tonight

tonight i want more

more.

lips walk in between
the doors ajar
the wind comes through
the cotton comes off
wind whispers through
soft cotton lips

just keep me warm
just keep me warm.

at the bar.

she looks tormented and monstrous

at the side of the photo, she sits screaming

her face is stout but stretched long with a sudden

opening of her mouth, an unnatural smile

(this photo is soundless)

her eyes are glaring in triangles of happiness

or rage

or today, they are the same thing, at the bar,

she screams for a drink of what he has

whatever he has in that cup that has made him

sitting next to her

so calm and still

but he's not that

and if she bothered to look at him she would see

his mouth's corner lifted into an uncomfortable spot

on his dull face a look of dismay and annoyance

this lady

she needs to sit down

and breathe.

feet (5.9-10.10)

my heels are always dirty from running around

in the grass

they won't wash off

in the sink

my feet are dirty

but my feet are not 

I, try

to wash them clean

feet

i will let you become me

fear

i will let you become me too

so long as

you let me live

so long as

you let me 

walk in dirt

do not 

let me sink in mud

rain, dust, spit, shit

blame me for these steps

feel the bit of gravel twist

bite on your skin

bruise easily?

has it squeezed through

your tough layer weak layer?

do not

twinge

keep running

(bleeding?)

(it is inside.)

(let it.)

loose (5.8.10)

each knot in your spine slides in place

throat taut like a rubber band about to break

stretched like the sound of his voice crying

to sleep

she tells me 

i feel calm but heavy

heavy

she tells me

there's no baby inside

inside

there's calm but heavy

blank papers

we look better covered

with each other

you grew on me

with your fingers washing through my hair

your glide down my back

yours in my mouth

yours in mine

your cells dying as i held them

here

and there

yours in mine

in the asking stage

beckoned.

like last year, the way she loved me on the grass
in need of a cut
soon
the mosquitoes will bite us
and you will not care
and i will scratch my own skin until
it breaks
and soon you will love me
the way i think i love you
i love you the way she thinks i do
and soon the sky will turn a deeper blue
until we call it black
for ease
and you're blue until i call you grey
until you call yourself grey
because blue is too beautiful
too heavy on your face
thin
skin stretched
pulled into the space
pulled out from your flesh
i have you in my hand
your blue
your grey
colors of unloved words
colors of unloved skin.

what remains.

April knocks again. I have been waiting for her

for days now and my dog's waiting for me to answer, 

waiting to know if I can possibly let her command me

again this time. I hear "Open the door." I am going to--

"Open the door!" I am going to--

my throat emptied of its rumbling darkness now houses your name

still dim like the fire of candles in the cathedral not far from here

licks of sudden movements against the wall 

you are dashed against the sick slides inside

between my bones surrounding what we sometimes call

the torch that flicks on and off but never dies

to be resurrected again at uncertain moments of Easter

without the happy children at the egg hunt

i do not know what i am looking for

now awake, now asleep

always fevered when i pray

kneeling beside the candles to feed you

oxygen, in the shape of 

words i tried to sigh out softly

but i am sick, you see, 

and you can't blame me

for blowing you out

when my throat suddenly coughed you out.

waiting (in line).

this is the second time he's walked over to me to ruffle my hair

smile at me and i say

you make me feel like a dog

he says something about

sex

and i laugh as he walks away.

my father, who keeps dying on me.

i went to japan when i was three

but of course i don't remember that on my own

there are people who tell me the story of my life

and when i was three

(i guess that was when)

my dead father came back to live with my mom and me

in that little apartment with a bedroom, a kitchen,

and a bathroom, the only room with a door for privacy

i remember that when i was three

this woman screamed at me in the bathroom

when i asked her if she could clean me up

like my mother always does for me

and in her fury i felt around to understand

the slap of her hand into mine

through thin sheets of toilet paper

and her footsteps thinning

and the privacy door closing

and i, there, sitting, there, there

i guess that year my father died again

when he left without telling me that morning after

he had brought home end-of-the-day-must-sell-sashimi

and i cried a bit because there was too much

wasabi on my tongue and not enough

smells of sweet fish meat 

lingering in the empty doorway

between the kitchen and the bedroom

i never revisited the vending machines to be found

on every other street corner, bright in the day

and brighter at night (i guess to keep the moonlight

from falling asleep alone), the ones that took

my father's coins, the ones he allowed to slip

and clink through the invisible paths inside, those

that allowed me to tip-toe on my three-year-old feet

to press that button with three-year-old joy:

grape soda, always that can of grape soda in japan, 

laughing, i hear it thumping inside, down to me.

baby squirrel.

baby squirrel
first of the year
i loved the way you ran away from me today
with a holey piece of thin dead leaf stuck on your nose
i love how your furry tail twisted in a gracefully panicked blur told me
that you were afraid of me
that you hated me and the space i took up in your territory
i loved your jumbled scramble up the tree
how your nails scratched at the bark, the clatter, the friction
i loved your escape from gravity and human courtesy
you made it easy for me to read your fear and dislike for me
unlike the people i meet who dare not say much
so they can be polite even though
the smell of my body and the wrinkles on my clothes do not suit them
you were not afraid to hurt my feelings to save yourself
you made me feel unwanted but you made it clear
and i like clarity with my pain
so baby squirrel
go tell your mother she's taught you well for me
and know that i love you even though you have good reason to hate me
and my kind.

dream repeated; or, loss.

fell in love, falling asleep on his lap, feeling comfort in the initial tension in his muscles,
the breath that didn't quite come

when i looked good with chin-length hair that flipped at the ends, slightly, quietly,
when i was held in security, my body was happy, my mind disappeared

warmth
but no lips to remember you by

before they shouted run, run
i would have liked to fall asleep on your lap again,

but they had already shouted,
their words burned against my back
and made the sweat return to the pores from which they came--

leaping up the stairs i tried to avoid the flash of light that would take everything away:
i never saw it

my brother, i had a brother

he seemed to have forgotten something

now i can't remember if i forgot anything,
stopping atop the flight of stairs i paused with steady breathing.

between the entrance and the exit lies a sin i paid in bits to make
it grows
slow
between the seconds of each hour and the looks of each day i live
see in the reflections of dusty windows
the bulge heavy in its place
folded within each layer of skin falling over
to hide
losing itself and its purpose
to kill
to lie
to instill fear in this space of respiring bodies overgrown like fat dandelion weed
composed and gentle but each part longing to detach and fly off to another place
waiting for my breath to come
to be released from their bonds
the middle that holds them still
i forgot myself
between the entrance and the exit of seasons
having overstayed my summer day allowance
grew desperate in autumn and fell in winter
never to see my sin bloom in spring
to repeat
me.

who could say

you think you hate me
when i say i know you as i know myself
when i hold that looking glass up
in front of your face with its wrinkles and spots
you see what you do not wish to see
yet i make you observe
i make you look at the details that are far too deep
to be just a fluke
but you cry
closing your eyes and covering your ears
you fear
that what i say is not a lie
that what you see is not a ghost
but a thing with life so close to you
that you realize
it is you
with your wrinkles and your spots
and the hairs that have begun to fall
and you think you hate me
for showing you this--
even as i love you--
for without these,
without the dust that falls
the birds that fly
and the fish that scatter
on the surface of the water,
to disrupt its perfect peaceful sleep,
who could say
that this is real
and not a dream?

different.

i am a broken thing
you cannot fix
but remind me when i forget
you are a broken thing
i cannot fix
and when we are both
yelling about our brokenness
remind me again
so i can remind you
that since we are all
like this
we are not quite broken
we are
maybe
just the way we are
almost the same kind
of disjointedness
but in different shapes
and colors
different years
and waters
different
but not quite different.

to curl your hair around my finger
i hear your breath quiet on your pillow
i see when the cars pass by outside
your nose digs softly into it
by the running strips of shadowed light
so this way i lie awake
wondering if i should step over you
to go to the bathroom
to grab that q-tip
to run along
the insides of my ears
to rid the itch deep in my head
unreachable
though my nails are of considerable length
(i fear the edges might slice something loose)
so this way i lie awake
wondering if i should step over you
for fear of waking you
and for your peace i would
stay quietly and restrained
even as i tangle my limbs
as the drill continues through my ear
inside the knots of my mind.

at night
she could hear the couple
making love upstairs
rather forcefully

and
looking down at her copy
of lady chatterley
she wondered.

choose.

you can choose, i tell her
you can choose for me and for yourself
what you want to this be

you can tell me
i want you to lie
i want something sweet

not bitter stringy celery
not burnt pb-chocolate bars
not frozen leftovers

i want you to tell me
words that walk around
the dumpster stink

so tell me
that you care enough about me
to sugar my coffee

so i tell you
baby i've never loved
anyone but you

you are my life
my purpose
my heaven on earth

you make me whole
you make me happier
than i could ever imagine

you make me
tell you
what i don't know i don't mean

or you can tell me
i want your truth
i want your love

(because if i wanted
to hear lies
i could do that myself)

i want whatever
you have cooked
for our dinner tonight

even if it is only
the distance and air
between you and me

as long as you say
this is all i have
can you understand?