Archive for March, 2009

forms forming

March 31, 2009

forms forming

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Mouth Metamorphosis

March 31, 2009

The mouth creates a second home inside its first home. My second tongue is a wolf tongue. It is feral and uninhibited and uninhabitable. I want to dress it up in little girl’s gowns. I want to take it swimming in my monsoon. It holds fast in its hinge. I can click it.

A Metamorphosis for Dinner: Being Rare

March 31, 2009

In it
grandmotherly girls
with piss teeth
go yelling
in a room of my underwear.
They demand
I explain
this scene.
I cannot.
And in it
a concrete head rises doomily
from a parking lot
to watch children come falling
in their own awful ketchup.
I have already cried
about all of these things already.
But now here, there are curtain people
thus altered,
consumptive
blue eyebrows,
come-with-me shapes
thus altered,
unwild cameos
pinned on.

The face of that mountain
just reached its hand
into the sea
and ate.
And I came out slept in and netted
and I came out in its mouth
like a dream of meat.

Metamorphosis

March 27, 2009

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When I was 19 I lived in a tool shed in my friend’s parent’s backyard. I had a space heater and a sunroof. It was next to an abandoned (or public) peach orchard. We kept bees there. At the end of the street was a trail leading to the Bear River. I hiked down every morning and swam until I had to go to work. I was the assistant manager and projectionist at a very small movie theater. I came to work soaking wet. I swam in my underwear and shoes. I feel a little bit like this again now. Minus the orchard. Minus the bees. Minus the river.