March 6th, 2016 § 0 comments § permalink


When I touch you, it is to tame you.


To pluck you, to squeeze you, to tweeze you, to shave you,

to rip you apart.


You sleep with the covers to your chin,

neck flinching in fear

of my metal hands.


When I touch you, it is to silence you.


To muffle you with long pants and scarves.

to quiet your angry red protests,

a hundred little agonies.


We are not the same.

We are not the same.

We are not the same.


When I lead you to the shower,

dear god I wish it were to cleanse you.


To find you,

to kiss your sweet arms.


To marvel at the way your neck,

your thick thick thighs.


At the way the water remembers

a child showering in the rain.


But when I touch you, it is with tools of war.


When I touch you, it is with—regret.



as in fat

February 24th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink


i is quite heavy

as in fat


as in sad, forlorn

yet if i tie my limbs

to de floor

i’m doing nada to the

movement of time

not quite heavy enough to

slow earth’s slow roll &

too fat, also sad, forlorn,

to safely ride in de general

direction. i tink i’m carryin

someone else on me waistline

two of us

wrapped lak a burning match








there there

September 6th, 2014 § 0 comments § permalink


there is no there there

neath these porchstep jeans their

ownly edges of the world there

beginning again they’re


sidesteppen this body

in viscous dance there, wherever

you go they says

there you is there


break the moment there when mind

gathers in us body, they’re threading groin

(a plastic edge-man’s land) like

its ours downthere?


then you is there there



Somebody Stranger

August 17th, 2014 § 0 comments § permalink


It’s been 25 years and

my body is still a stranger to me.

Brushing fingertips feel like glancing trains

Adjusting my breast, I am caught off guard.

I do not inhabit my body

As I do my couch on Sunday mornings

As tomatoes inhabit the smell of summer’s night.


It’s been 25 years and I still

have the sense that my brain is dragging around a person

bagged and fighting to get free

inside, roving toward boundlessness.


My eyes like flashlights in the dark

catching restless just out of sight.


Each morning I whisper my hands awake

so they may collapse my frame

inward toward oblivion every night.


In another 25 years

may I lay claim enough to

wiggle my toes and pump my arms

as though I were alive

as though there were

no stranger

between our minds