OUR CONCERN FOR THE MESS
You go to bed in jail and wake up with a prison
or eating grass-fed burgers in a lumberyard.
I did not say a person.
I’m excited as a pineapple in a snowstorm
shaking off my prickled securities
for I am wont of learning you like a forest
equipped with only a handful of arrows.
But if you are dead, no one lets you die
not even as a prison.
You have missed it, the party we are throwing
babies in the air; a thousand chances for falling.
I am ready for the ketchup now.
I am ready to go down to be
delivered, as if a mission
and to be extradited because we love
the world with us in it and us elsewhere.
When we come to, it feels good to say
something is resembling a circumference.
This is in concern of you.
We need the charts to know where we are ranking.
I grow garden rust,
explain an election through my window.
Two years of dialogue
I send the boat across the tub
I storm drain to your pillow.
There is an admission in a field of poppies;
a tunnel for how long we are.
The domestic irrigation—
some digits to my chest,
an unfolded body
a once gone through body.
In this American bed
with clapboard feelings
we came in smaller than we were
and left with negative reviews.
So animal love
withdrawing the cactus
from the perforation
we shake arrows
How was I a cohesion?
How do I end up
in the same dark corridor
blaming everyone for my lack.
I resent the Internet for telling me
that everywhere I turn is home.
That I am not a plant.
It says I am a Dysthymic tongue,
damp on a towel in August.
A towel under the passenger seat
a to-go order of 300 peanut butter & js.
Who do I give this hyper anxiety to
like its flowers, really good flowers
that I interviewed to make sure they were ready
for this job
to bloom down on your cracks
and wedge scarlet,
The Hollywood Squares
have pixel penciled
a vacation of steady panoramas.
Be good to the horses on the beach,
don’t coconut bra them,
don’t brazier out of this liminal light.
that’s what liminal is.
You packed away a portable alarm clock
while I set the time at the hour I was born.
It’s not a sorry that you will love me
at this hour.
Just meet me in the playhouse
and we will rehearse breaking a leg.