Five Poems

BIRTH

Going on three days now my scalp itches like a tree in heat.
What's coming up out of me?
A rabbit exploding from a rainbow, maybe.
 

 

 
SMART

Am I smart enough to be androgynous?
Constantly shitting myself in your name.
Nothing is as beautiful as what is not beautiful.
Except sheet rock.

 

 


LOOK

My third eye is swollen.
I cry out of it.
O I cry I'm so lonely.
I'm so lonely for a sky and a piece of ice.

 



GO

My mother walks into the ravine.
You can't take a picture of a dead ocean.





CARTOGRAPHY


The anti-aphorism.
The dead ocean.
The anti-aphorism is the dead ocean.
The depression.
The anti-depression.
A depression is a place, an indent.
A place I can get to.
Your gold chest and my gold chest.
The last time I saw you at the entrance to the DeKalb subway
     station.
Love reminds me of love.
You remind me of a subway station.
A dead ocean.
I could be Artemis, or at least her arrows.
The anti-myth.
The anti-matter.
Dreams left along the highway.
Technology left along the highway.
The dream you breathed.
The myth you breathed.
You could be the sun god, breaking above a roof.
You could be a thing or two.
A depression.
An indent.
A place I can get to.
I'm all lined up on the interstate.
Aphorisms flutter behind me.
Dead ocean in the distance.
The anti-dead ocean.
The anti-dead.
The work of being un-dead.
The work of building a highway.
The work of an aphorism.
The work of a myth.
The work of technology.
The work of an indent.
The word "nest."
The word "home."
The word "highway."
A place I can get to.
Tombstones lined up like knives.
Body my body full of knives.
The kitchen is a dead ocean.
The ocean is a knife.
A depression.
A place holding an anti-myth.
A myth holding an ocean.
You flew up and out of me like a dead tombstone.
You moved like a word.
A word not an aphorism.
One word and no meaning.
The word for ocean.
An indent on the highway.
A highway made of birds.
A subway station filled with birds.