-

half-dreamt crossword
Across Down 4. my silken hands inherited callouses from sunken dreams 2. I do not notice when thorned nails sprout from my budding fingers 7. my tight skin spies into what I have forgotten 8. what my body longs to remember under too-bright interrogation 1. entering, off-center, into the self that I can’t…
-

Marlie’s burrow
Enter, and I tuck myself into the corner that remembers my outline. This is where your trance takes hold of me. Wedged between my pointer and middle, traces of dreams and feelings flurry into the wind, wisping away along a charcoal staircase warding off reality like sage in a haunted house. Continue, painted by…
-

My Dreams, They Sound Like Running
My dreams, they sound like running there is a certain fever, a sicker fervor of second comings One day soon, you see the floodlight in the east will drag me from this slumber How long will my sheets hold the imprints of my limbs? I think these sheets have secrets ones I mumble in…
-

Bogotá
Lloras como niña empedernida: La lágrima rasga a ratos la cortina Y me miras, afligida, como si la culpa fuera mía. Me dices, a bocinazos, Que los carros te atraviesan la cintura, Y transitan tu pecho con su chafa montura Para sentarse a cuchichear. Si refundo tu voz entre el largo suspiro …
-

Aurochs
Let archaeologists make beasts like bulls out of bodies like ours. Let them find faith in our boyhood bones, find fault in the pools of our hips. Last night, I drew up medicine like clear water and loosed 22-gauge needle in my leg. In the blood that swelled I sank: I was…
-

Called Olympic
You created me with that thrashing tongue of garbled half-waves on smooth sound stones, aged by thousands of caressing palms looking to skip on Puget’s icy surface. You made my patronymic the peninsula, home to faces of fathers upon fathers— their hands in the murk which I track over your face. Baptized by…
-

I Dream of Being an American Man
The desert ground bloated with rainwater dries a day later. Ripped apart at its seams into a matrix of fractures. What is lightning? Plasma? Or the way you stand with your Hips square, eyes level, jaw set. Bare shoulders in a hailstorm, burning. Cracked lips opened wide, burning. Night air after an illness, burning.…
-

The Fall of a Rocket’s Empty Fuel Tank
Shaking, shuddering, skyward I crash as if I, alone, can break this glass haze with the fire sloshing in my belly. Every movement, I feel— my breath— arch into the greed of those astronauts, high on my fumes—guzzled and smuggled through my hissing steel veins to fuel our shared madness; I see the stars…
-

tonsiled & Venetian Ceruse
tonsiled the slug of your body lies dead upon the floor; it squirms for a funeral without a casket. I make a bad Schrödinger joke: my cat died but did it ever exist? should I…
-

Tape Recorder Seance
Whether or not I press play, the tape rattles on; some days, I just hear it in my mind— wandering about by the side of the road, looking, out, out, for a nice place to sit down and witness the reservoir’s slow metamorphosis into sludge. Other days? No. Other days, I pull out The tape…
-

Equinox
Lightning and thunder reassert themselves in static blinding booms. Boom. Storm shorts out the grid, so together we hunt for batteries. In the sudden blackness, I scour and squint until you become a soundwave streak of yellow twitching unlike an insulated wire. Jagged nerve. Warm. Salt crust spills from our cheap, plastic shelves…
-

What I don’t understand is the beauty
From here the mountain looks like moss, but there are worse things that could look like moss. Bodies, for one. The first time passing most things, I did not know they could be looked at. God, I was so proud. I thought I was pure movement. Like I could prove the world’s ugliness…