i should remember to write smaller. or think smaller. neater. think neater and small. and to write small neat things.

indian pale ale

ivory she sells
my mind
burying everything in a slow way
warm red clay
working into every groove of your body
mine
child of the caste
untouchable from this god or that
one
she whispers to me
with rings dangling from everywhere
turquoise drops from
chestnuts
this is for this
& that
is for that
& i
believed her with every touch

saying things

an exhale white as the corners of her knifing eyes
lingered here
she can smell the sin in the air
i
mention to myself
smoky warm breath still floating from her lips
ghost of a sinking ship i kiss
it moves inside of me i
fantasize of the young pink of her lung
wrapped around my fetal frame
it sits there
visible spirit
danging as pearls
not because it is so damn cold
not because of that

saying things

an exhale white as the corners of her knifing eyes
lingered here
she can smell the sin in the air
i
mention to myself

still not six a.m. &
i'm going
probably home but at the moment
it's debatable
i see others, jogging
or riding their bikes like i am
all exercising i
see people drive by &
wonder if they think i am
exercising as well
but i have hardly slept
& still a little drunk
riding home to my bed
carrying a bottle
of seagrams seven
in a plastic sack
hiding the fact that i am not
as healthy as i seem

i saw an owl

i was sitting on my bike
in the drive-
thru
of a 24-
7 mexican
restaurant when i saw an owl
swoop from a tree &
land on the roof of a church
i wanted
to get a closer look
but i
went home instead to see
nothing

a goodnight poem

tangled in
brought up to believe—
afraid of some other.
she kisses
you.
& the other
is put away
behind the things we forget to
remember,
underneath a dusty fear aging in reason
from the comfort
she
makes in a kiss.

it's pretty ridiculous that sotomayor is being grilled about her background and how it might affect her decisions.

Anti—

she does not deny her role
even if one cannot be read
in words
though the word do not always mean
mystery
they secretly yell
non-exclamatory cries across that face
her
ear to another ear
she whispers
& small notes are sparkled from golden skin
drunk off the blood of a lover
a saint
who walks with me
in my Babylon beyond
a shadow she
of walls
hiding some great city that is &
is
not
she pretends to hear me from outside it’s defense
i lean on them by stone & horn hand
as the babe leaves her
& another after
another
they are all mine she whispers into their lips
brothers of Gomorrah
kissing each other on the eye — defiled they love
deep into wells of each other
children of Cain
& staff
arched out over the backs of the willing rams
to bleed us
kissing our young Abel bodies that yearn for seed
or soiled blood
we whet them as prodigals
though we meet them as sin
&
in the confusion we endlessly suffer
our brothers death

july is a