SUNDIAL

it seems the east is changing

the earth is becoming something else

i am standing very still on the earth

i am sitting on my bed in my room

it used to be the sun came in through these windows in my room

now it seems the sun comes in through these windows in my room


the earth is changing, these things happen

eventually the earth will change so that east will no longer be east



it used to be polaris that was the north star

then the earth changed and now it is some other star

and so my body is changing

and the east is changing

and this must be okay.

by the time the changing is finished, by then my body will have also have changed.


in the morning there are new shadows

that my body is making.

asking the body what shadows

it is making is useless.


the body will do as the body will do.


there is no use treating the body as a sundial.

there is nothing certain about the body except

that using the body as a sundial will change.



i find my body in a dark room

and my shadow drapes across it.

being velvet i am turned dark:

this is a reoccurring dream.

IT USED TO BE CALLED 2006

DO YOU REMEMBER 2006?

I BELIEVE I CALLED MY BODY 2006 IN 2006.

I BELIEVE I LIVED IN A TWO-BEDROOM FLAT IN 2006.

I BELIEVE I TOOK THE BUS TO WORK IN 2006.

I BELIEVE I TOOK THE BUS AND THEN THE METRO TO WORK IN 2006.

I BELIEVE THE ROUTE TO WORK WENT LIKE THIS IN 2006:

FIRST I TOOK THE BUS AT THE STOP NAMED 'U PAMATNIKU',

THEN I RODE THE BUS TO THE RED LINE METRO STATION 'FLORENC',

THEN I TOOK THE METRO TO 'HLAVNI NADRAZI',

THEN I WALKED THROUGH THE PARK WITH GYPSIES SLEEPING,

THEN I WENT UP IN A GLASS ELEVATOR,

THEN I WAS AT WORK

IN 2006


NOW IT IS 2011.

I DO NOT RIDE A BUS OR METRO TO WORK IN 2011.

I WORK AT A CO-OP GROCERY STORE.

SOMETIMES I WALK THERE.

I AM A CASHIER.

I STAND IN A PLACE WHERE PEOPLE COME TO TALK TO ME.

I ASK THEM HOW THEY ARE FEELING TODAY.

I ASK THEM FOR MONEY AND THEN I ASK THEM TO LEAVE.

EVERY DAY I HAVE A 30-MINUTE BREAK.

GOING UPSTAIRS TO THE BREAK ROOM

I IMAGINE MY BODY ENCASED IN GLASS

RISING LIKE AN ELEVATOR TO ANOTHER PLACE

I IMAGINE MY BODY IN 2006.

COLORED COLORS

a color the color of colored colors

i do not trust a person with dark-colored hair and eyes the color of colored colors

cold feet turn a color colored blue

i do not trust a person with dark-colored eyes and feet the color of colored blues

a loud drunk color

a stupid loud drunk color

HOUSE

House sleeps and
cries and feels
near the ocean.

Made of wood
warped and salt
pinned to an overhang
fastened with cobwebs.

And near the ocean
with triangles for windows
above masses of stone.

Also held together with cobwebs
but made up of salt
and foam.

MY FATHER

once held
a broken bottle
to the neck of a man
at a bar
because they
would not
allow him
to leave.

loud neighborhood motorcyles

the window is open
there are loud neighborhood motorcyles

i am sitting in a room
the radio is on.

there is a lawnmower
somewhere.

it is very hot
i am sitting on the floor



my arms are skinny muddy rivers
for neon blue eel veins

the hairs are pushed down branches

blowing and flying
in the wind through

the blowing window



there is a child screaming
from his room
somewhere

there is a branch
blowing
and tapping


there are motorcycle serpents
growling from the water

i went to my first poetry reading last night.

naomi shihab nye.

she is famous or something.

i was very bored.

ted kooser was there.

that was 'okay by me'.

a girl in front of me kept looking at her friend

when some funny thing was read,

her face was like,

'we are both experiencing this together,

isn't that wonderful?'

i imagined i was a giant moth

hovering over ted kooser's head.

afterward i was exploring around the stage.

someone wanted to take a picture of naomi and ted.

naomi told me to move out of the way.

i said 'okay'.

i have come with a diamond sword

issuing from my diamond mouth.



i have come with a crystal apple

pulsing inside a crystal house.




i have come for the frozen berries and razor blade leaves.


i have come with crystal splinters in my diamond teeth.




i have come for the glassed up apples and the blackened out seeds.


i have come with a diamondback throat and a golden-brown fleece.




i have come to the crystal forest.

i have come for the meat.

i have come to the crystal forest.

i have come for to eat.

WHEN I WAS AN ELEPHANT

when i was an elephant

i pushed the sun-bleached bones

of my mother's body

through the desert

with my trunk



i called out to my enemies for bread

and they came for me

with water.



it rained for 40 days and 40 nights


when i came up from the water

seaweed was wrapped up in my tusks

laced with ribbons



in my seaweed beard there slimed

along the passage of two amoebas in discourse:


said one amoeba to the other:

'i must fightyou now.
i must showyou, now.

i mustimustimust.'


said the other amoeba to the first amoeba:

'i must break anything solid inside you

i must take everything out of you that is made of flesh

i must do this with a ice cream scooper

made of fine diamonds'



when i was an elephant

i found my mother bloated

and floating in the water.



her pink dress spinning

like a slow-moving top



this when i was an elephant

when i could never forget.

there is an iceberg spinning in my mouth

every night i listen to my brother


crying from the frozen lake where


half his body is solid below the ice.





in the morning he is blue and stiff.

in the morning there is a field of brightly colored feathers
stuck around the ice near his body.



when i woke up i was wrapped in a cocoon
of ribbons and strings.



the strings poured from my mouth



at the edge of the pond
i watched my naked brother
tear apart a wild dog
with his hands




there was dried blood on his mouth
and a fur in his nails.



i watched him walk into the water
carrying the broken dog in his arms.
when i called to him he did not respond.


his head bobbed above
while he struggled with the dog below.




i pulled a string from my mouth
and threw to him in the water.
but he refused it.



i sat on the shore until night
hugging my knees and weakly calling
to his head in the water



i kept calling and seeing if he would answer,
seeing if maybe he would say something back.

EARTH -- an epic micro-poem

1.

this morning
i walked around
in the forest
and climbed rocks.
my hands were in my pockets
and i was breathing steam.

2.

i looked out
over the mountains.
i dangled my legs
and laid down.

3.

when i woke up
i came down
and ate a biscuit.

4.

there was a troll
and his was mouth was gaping.
he was a trash can
and you were supposed to
put trash in his mouth.
i put my biscuit in his mouth.

5.

the park was open
to the public.
i found a dead possum
floating in the pond.
i squatted on the shore
and poked him with a stick.
when i finished
i put my hands
back in my pockets.

6.

i walked back to summer's house.
she was baking bread.
i ate another biscuit.
the park was okay.

7.

'i would like to live in a treehouse
and i would have book shelves
and a wooden bed.'

8.

'i would like to wake up
in the morning
with the sea lions barking.'

9.

'everything would be okay
because i would know
that i am living in a treehouse.
things would not be so bad i think.'

10.

i said goodbye to summer
and walked back to my house.
i climbed onto my bed
and fell asleep with
my legs dangling.

love is a faggot

love is a faggot
and the moon is AIDS.
tomorrow i will march in the street
with signs that read
"love=gay"

in the morning
the light was pink
and gray through the window,
the canary danced to be funny.
i didn't say anything then,
but i thought
it was
faggy.

the canary sat while i
ate breakfast on the terrace,
it said:

'take everything quietly into your hands
to consume all in gasping breaths,
compacted into a single molecular unit
of fag and fuck.'

it gave a little cry and
before it flew away,
it shit on my face.

you motherfucker moon,
i don't want it.

it is only that
there is something
i am looking for
in these corn fields.

this is all, i don't want you.
i don't want you to come any closer.

in the boxcar darkness
there was apple milk cream dream.
there was fear.
there was milk and fear.
i woke up in the morning.
my room was cold.

love is a faggot
and the moon is AIDS
tomorrow i will shit
on your face and
write a poem about it.

please make a home (dedicated to ryan manning)

please make a home for my penis with your hands.
it is cold and i am afraid.

talk to me quietly and be gentle to the backs of my arms.
make small sounds that in my language mean 'home'

make it a warm and clean place,
so that i will be able to close my eyes
and hear my aching bones tell me
this is the place where i belong.

ask me to open my eyes and look at you.
then rub the cold out of me,
take my hand and lead me to the fire.
we will brush shoulders and know,
we will not say it but we will know.
you will knit gloves for my thick, frozen hands.
and i will point out different species of snow birds to you
from your bedroom window.
and you'll look me in the eye and ask me where,
ask me if there
ask me.

make a home from me where it's warm,
where i can swell and expand,
and crack pipelines and water-stained walls.
i will not bother you.
i will not make a mess.
i will just try my best to take care of us.
i will clean out the soot from the chimney
and chop firewood before breakfast.
i will read quietly after lunch
and share interesting passages with you.
i will hate what you hate
and love what you love.

i will sleep in the corner of an empty room
curled up by the window.
and i will not ask you for anything.
i will not ask you to re-finish the floors.
and i will not you ask to fix anything,
i will clean out the pantry
and take shits in the woods.
i will clean the kitchen with swabs of cotton dabbed in bleach
and you will understand my tremendous
ability to be grateful and alive.


i will stay in my sleeping bag and
watch the moon pass over my face.
i will sleep happily in the light
and know quietly that
there is nothing more simple
and there is nothing more safe.




just please make a home for my penis with your hands.

vegan dirge

the cardboard said they died
on the 22nd of september.

i watched the light change over the box
when i moved through the hallway.

on the 22nd of september
i think i was laying on my bed.
watching the ceiling fan spin.

the lights in the hallway felt like an incubator:
it was less but the color was more
and i kept the babies in sight.
and everything else in the frame
changed colors and did funny things.

on the 22nd of september
i remember distinctly feeling
like an alien.

i felt like an alien today
carrying the carton of dead baby chickens
cocooned to the dumpster,
because i had let them
stink in my refrigerator
for too long.

there was the land and the sky.
it was the desert.
the sky was very much 'there'.
it was flying past.
charles watched it pass
from the window, bored.
it was cold.
in the bus, it was cold.
charles watched his breath collect on the glass.

charles tried to stretch his legs.
his pants would not his legs seperate.
they were around his ankles.
charles looked down
watched the white-gloved machine
stroke his erect penis.

on the seat he read the sign
'thank you for traveling
Masturbation Bus'

charles sighed quietly.


he thought:
'i grow weary'

9 hours

i have laid in my bed today
for 9 hours.
i have not left my bed once.
i have filled two bottles
of a generic nutritional supplement drink
with my own urine.
i have not left my bed once.

yes i have.
i went downstairs
there was no one.
i was in my underwear.
i raised my arms
in the living room.

i deleted you today
from my AIM Buddy list
i felt power in deleting you.

when i left my bed
i played a song on my computer
i made a parade through the house.
there was liberation.

i have masturbated four times today.
each time i fantasized about a different person.
you were never one.
when you crept in
i stopped you by the throat.

it felt good to do this
it felt good to pin you to the wall.
it felt good to expel you
into two bottles
of a generic nutritional supplement drink.

national geographic, vol. 186 #2 1994

dima lives in kiev
in an orphanage
for mentally retarded children.

dima is always very happy.
he rocks on his haunches
and plays in the sand.

every morning
dima tells the nurse
his dreams of the night before.
the nurse rubs ointment
into his sores
and dima stares at her tits.

dima has dreamt of america.
in his dream
dima was not hungry.
dima was beautiful
his dick was long,
to his feet.
it dragged in the sand.

dima says:
"i love america;
i will go there
and become president."

shower

in the shower
i massaged my scalp.
there was dandruff.

'because i am an ever-evolving creature
continuously taking in information
and processing new emotions
of despair, elation, foreboding, and contemplation
i will never accurately and completely
be loved
by anyone
ever.'

i scratched some more

In Dark, There Were Many Fireflies

photo: alicia pernell

I.

My father came in and said they were getting pizza.
I was not hungry; I did not want pizza.
My mother kept offering me bread.
She was always worried about me:
Was I eating enough?
Was I being healthy?
Was I 'sick' again?
It was Saturday night.
I was in my house, alone,
Reading The Sun Also Rises.
They both seemed worried.
I did not want pizza but I said they should get it anyway.

II.

After they left I turned off the light over my desk.
I turned off all the lights in my little house.
I laid on the floor next to my bed.
I listened to ambient rain sounds on my computer.
Outside, there was faint thunder.
I felt dumb.
I tried not to feel dumb
I tried to feel like it was all supposed to mean something.
I tried to feel like there was a something
And that I was going to find it.
But I couldn't decide if this was funny or not
And the ambient rain sounds were still playing on my computer.

III.

I took a cigarette from an envelope on my shelf.
I decided to smoke it.
I got up and felt around through the house.
I pretended I was blind.
I found my shoes and put them on in the dark.
With my hands I turned off the air conditioning and found the door.
I walked out.

IV.

Outside, it was dark.
Above me there were many stars.
I stopped walking and looked.
They were all very pretty.
There were many creatures in the forest singing.
The wind was blowing and it was very nice.
The day had been very hot and
Everything smelled like grass now.
I lit my cigarette and started walking.
Over the grass there was mist.
I looked at my feet moving through it
And pretended I was a giant roaming through a foggy meadow.
I tried to imagine how many things I was killing.

V.

Behind me, the sky was clean and black.
I looked at the darkness and felt small.
The clouds lit up from inside themselves.
I could see a dark thunderhead rolling toward me.
Soon the stars would all be covered.
I felt little and unimportant.
It all looked like fireworks and I tried not to think of myself.
I pretended to set off the lightning with my cigarette.
But I just felt dumb.

VI.

I took a long drag of this cigarette
And began to feel silly so that
Suddenly, standing,
With the lightning there,
In the sky,
I felt sick for it,
Beautifully sick for it
And inside of myself
There was something like butterflies for it.
I wanted to eat this light,
I wanted to put into myself
So that the butterflies would stop moving.
I wanted to eat the light
In the darkness
By myself.

VII.

I imagined my insides.
Everything was pulp and mulch
There were fireworks inside of my belly, inside of myself.
There were many gurgling sounds
And a film of cigarette butts on the water.
In the flashes I could see the little butterflies,
And I saw something like a face in the floating cigarette butts.
I could see the firework smoke,
And I followed it up to my throat and watched it blow out of myself.
I felt like God.

VIII.

A fly landed on my face.
When I swatted at it,
My glasses fell off and
I looked for them on my hands and knees
In the dark.

IX.

When I found them I looked at the lightning some more.
I took another long drag from the cigarette
And began to feel even sillier.
Feeling like God again, I walked out of the shadow of the barn
And into the light of a neighbor's flood light.
Immediately, there was regret
And I could not see the lightning so well.
I tried to shield my eyes with my hand and my arm.
And then I was covering the light with my thumb.
It felt like the last line of that Robert Frost poem
Where God says, Put out the light
And it's supposed to mean that the world is over.

X.

With my thumb over the light,
I imagined all the little animals in the back pastures
Holding each other and crying,
And thinking about their achievements in mathematics, and art, and science.
I imagined Ernest Hemingway shooting them
In their faces and laughing.
Then I imagined him seeing the light covered up
And shooting himself in the face.

XI.

I took a longer drag of the cigarette.
I felt my stomach gulp and belch.
Ernest Hemingway was screaming and melting in the goop and bile.
I blew his smoke out through my nose.
Oh Ernest.... I thought.
What a goddamn tourist.
I thought about how important he thought he was.
I thought he was dumb for writing stupid things about himself.
I thought about The Sun Also Rises.
There were fireworks in that book
But I couldn't remember where.
I tried to think if they were supposed to be a metaphor or mean something.
I couldn't remember that either.
I tried to keep setting off the lightning
But I was already bored.
My eyes ached.

XII.

Along the fence there a great blueberry bush growing.
I went behind it and everything was dark and cool again.
I came to a gate and looked out at the darkness.
My sister's horse came out of it to nibble on some grass.
I could only just make her out.
And I thought about the thunderstorm
I wondered what the horse thought of it
And of me,
Coming out there like a tourist,
Covering the light
And smoking my cigarette.
I hope she didn't mind the smoke
But I hated that I cared.
I had the sudden urge to yell.
It went away very quickly.

XIII.

I put my my arm on the gate to keep the cigarette smoke away.
My head was swimming,
I could not think.
This was not a good cigarette.
This was a terrible cigarette.
Sometimes you get those.
I tried not to get any smoke on my clothes.
I didn't want my mother to know
I wasn't being 'healthy'
And that I hadn't been 'healthy' for a long time.
I hated that I cared.

XIV.

I started feeling sicker and sicker,
Just full of shit and grime from the all the fire and bones in my belly.
I kept smoking my cigarette,
And taking longer drags.
I suddenly felt my insides coming up to my mouth
And my chest burning for the bile and acid.
I began to cough and when I opened my hand
I saw a half-digested cigarette butt.
My eyes teared up and I told myself not to cry.

XV.

In the dark, there were many fireflies.
These were not stars and I was very certain of this.
In my eyes, everything became darker.
I began feeling hot and cold at the same time.
I sat down in the grass and put my head between my knees.
I felt myself spinning in place.
I felt I was bobbing in a pool of acid
Inside of myself, floating
With the cigarette butts.
I closed my eyes
But kept seeing fireflies.

XVI.

When I looked up,
Lightning flashed.
There was a face in the clouds.
I felt like Simba.

XVII.

I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my thumbs
And all the animals of the forest were singing again.
I wanted it to be over.
Everything was spinning.
The wind was blowing.
I was cold and miserable.
I had not eaten.
The lightning was closer now and I was very hungry.
I had not eaten.
Everything was terrible.
And I did not enjoy existing.
My general sentiment for life was largely negative.
I was not happy.
Nothing was good.
Everything was wrong.

XVIII.

I blew more smoke through my nose
And felt like a dragon,
A lonely and sick dragon.
I felt like stumbling back to my dragon cave and sleeping.
I felt like laying in a familiar dragon place,
And having my belly rubbed.
I knew I could rub my own belly
But I always felt lonelier afterward.
And it always made me sleepy.
I thought about killing things
And eating them
And not being hungry anymore.

XIX.

I laid down in the grass, quietly.
Trying to get everything spinning to stop.
I wanted someone to lay quietly in the grass with me
And I wanted it so that nothing was spinning
And we could being laying because we wanted to
And we could stand up straight if we wanted.
I wanted it to be just the two of us,
Being alone and quiet
Together but awake.
I felt like crying and vomiting at the same time.
I felt that if I did either of these things,
I would have liked to do them on my shirt.
I thought that looking at it then would make me feel better.

XX.

More lightning went off.
I forgot about everything.
I watched the clouds pass over my head.
A firefly landed on my shirt
I watched it light up and down.
I felt like it was supposed to mean something.
I was too sick to care.
I got up and began to stumble home.
Nothing was pretty.
I was sick and alone,
Just lonely and sick.
I was not God.
I could not see anything.
Above the barn, there was more lightning.

XXI.

I came home and the house was hot.
I was sweating milk and coughing up cigarette butts.
I wanted to call my mother.
I tried with everything not to throw up.
The computer was playing a song called "Unfamiliar Wind".
I laid on my bed and looked out the window.
There was lightning.

micro-poems

when preston came home
he did not turn on the lights.
he moved around in the dark.

***

ralphie threw up in the snow.
he stumbled home.

***

in the forest, natalia saw a deer.
the deer was beautiful.
there was a waterfall.

***

robert wrote a song.
when he sang it to his mother
she cried,
'we think something is wrong.'

***
iva sat on a hill
in the desert
hugging her knees.
there was a full moon.

***

lester yelled at his family.
he sat on the porch.
he came in and said sorry to everyone.
they had bread.