Everybody I meet says Thou Shalt Honor,
from the olives to the apple bins. The celery hearts to the pickled
eggs. From the flat, happy families gracing those fat-free chips
to the slick space-soldiers blasting their subtext through
my DVD binge. Those scuttles that tick down the bathroom walls.
The mysteries that clog my kitchen sink. The caption
on every cat meme and the email winks and your eye-twitching
cameo pop-ups that still police my wrinkled dreams.

I see it in random Tweets. Screen it as a secret
betrayal that spins from the rainbow pinwheels I faithfully fail
to iAvoid. Alive to dead to the traffic stops between, this whole
ungodly world readies its stones, purses its spit, shape
shifts, calls me Ungrateful Child. And I can’t drink any more
Family über alles. I say: if you felt in all good
conscience that you needed children to be complete,
then who did you believe You were? So I live (more…)

First is the matter of the killing.

              A deer is best done in the half-light.
              You can whisper to it so it believes
              that it’s safe, even if it isn’t.

When the sky turns molten and
you can’t feel your hands,

              you’ll know that you’ve finished.

With the deer still painting your skin,
dig a hole in the ground, wide enough

              for the entire forest.

Swallow the green and climb inside. (more…)

I met a pimp today in Atlanta
by a broken train
flanked on either side
by creamy butterflies
pale and dark in equal measure
carrying his soul
fairies in another life
dressed in fishnet wings
adorned in opal stores
some call them thot
I think them acrobats
of love and other things
that bump a lot
switchboards for libido’s
cudgelling gust, turbulent
winds that need tending
glistening hideous human thrust
the pimp’s flies spoke
and dazzled me with tongues
that felt too pure to doubt
scared me numb, guts spilled
but thrilled to death
all in the same breath
giving me fresh supple
nervous laughter I had
been sorely lacking
ejaculating words of wonder
“Where did you come from?”
frenzied scalping thunder
like I just discovered America (more…)

237 cabinets.  You are a woman.  You are poison.  Thorned in this palm, a peony unfurling.  When there is a massacre, when the people split and the heavens hide their gods, you refuse to leave the throne.  At tea, the devil’s trumpet.  And all of the ladies unlace.  Just a little.  There hasn’t been a moment for breath.  And if they would call you a great king, cunt and all, would you accept the compliment?  But they will never.  Behind the first door is a pair of perfumed gloves.  A fork behind the second.  Some science that sounds like sorcery, third.  How dare you be Italian.  You are a curiosity in your own cupboard.  Bad mother.  And you are.  And you are not.  Belladonna.  Black widow.  When you prick your own finger, what do you taste on your tongue?

              to Ms. Smith

I got my Vitamin D this morning from that lovable vacuum cleaner in the sky. It was so pretty my prayer beads sang. I met Jesus the Feminist and staffed UNICEF all in an instant. The moment was medical engineering. It was the anaphora I feed myself in the dark. It was an arrowhead carved from the granite in my belly. It stunk and spat and danced and sparkled. And then it rotted in my hand. But that’s how I knew it was real. By noon it was dust. So I kept walking. Smiles ranging a quarter-mile. (more…)

cicadas have always reminded me of zombies
they sleep for most of the year
wake up in the middle of
blinding rage heat
to scream for 3 months straight
as they run around looking for mates
and probably purpose beyond
hormones and breeding
i think humans are a lot like cicadas.
i think i in particular am especially
like a cicada
i think i have no purpose i
realize now that i
am okay with that
cicadas can damage your hearing
with their screams
some cicada-screams can be heard
up to a mile away,
i try to mime a mile
with my two arms
but fall a little bit over
5,000 feet short,
and this is when i realize
no one is enough for anyone
but themselves and i
am okay with that. (more…)

I wanna be Daisy Duke
Skinny legs and apple-round the rest of me
I wanna be Lynda Carter
pit you against my truth lasso
Be Jewel; kiss crooked-tooth
Jewel; be a folk singer
be adorable.
In the subway panhandling the coins
knowing I get paid in pennies
for doing what I love –
Kicking Lex Luthor’s ass
Fucking Hal and Flash,
pitting them against each other
and the devil in my brass tits.
I wanna be Dolly Parton, skinny legs
Shock and Awe
apple-round the rest of me
Islands in the stream
O Kenny darlin.
What we are is Boss Hog Bait –
I wanna be cutoff shorts n corsets
I want a gun. (more…)