/move/
We are the sum of our choices in a boxing gym. Open your sternum, autopsy style. His
mesodermal layers boast, “I like to spoon.” Minute hands and low towel stock are enemies along
with The 52nd hour of the Today Show. It isn’t today anymore when it’s thirty for thirty. Glide
and Lift. Lift and separate. Self help yourself to see over that Basu ball wall. Matted hair
kingdoms swat team the locker room close out sale. Straddle, grind, sex shop the best ripped up
spots, or stay still like a vine growing inwardly – it doesn’t matter. I refuse to change my phone
number for that juiced up smoothie brain freeze cock tease. Everyone needs an extra downward
dog, a streamlined cubby, an organized pro-organizer, slow and fast twitch fibers.
/valve/
My xx balks at algebraic equations.
Variable “n” chooses storm shelter
over internet connection.
Big brains shut up in a shed.
We all went missing in university
basements. It is awful,
I know, until it isn’t
to float in a jam jar.
Formaldehyde hose humble pies itself,
twists into No Access Pass chromosomes.
Involuntary walking like a throat
changing its mind,
like hearing verses listening.
Which one? Or eight?
While we attend tag sales,
an open and shut barbed wire
purse mobilizes,
wants to see how it feels
on the outside,
shuns its own velvety walls.
Fluidize solids, or slurries,
seal a choice switch blade.
Open a mechanical greeting card.
Thieve my face, now
on a bumper sticker
even low pressure systems knew
I was lost and found on a milk carton.
The fridge door swings open-
poorly installed.
/statoblast/
(statoblasts are masses of cells that function as “survival pods”)
I obsessively count tentacles.
The sunburst feelers at the end – colicky muppet hair
Adorable in its minuteness
if it wasn’t attached to the parent colony
Your globule prism escaped pod into my time out.
Carried along on animals or floating vegetation,
like a shoplifter who stole my favorite lip glass
you stole my heart.
Blast me to the core,
hang onto my divided cells,
survive freezing and desiccation
I cannot cuddle you in diseased waters
A secret sedan lover- why are humans afraid of multiple, flailing limbs?
There is a center, a sun.
Long fingers taste, grope.
We are accustomed to the language of the torso.
A gooey center is the best part
in molten chocolate cake.
Synapse me a home,
a Guggenheim.
Veins are excruciating.
To see them lying in the road
or on the slab
or inside something’s something.
I gather you under the microscope
push you away from where you want to go.
A frog toe shaped algae waterbed.
Blind little bat.
Like Lear, you stumbled when you saw.
is the author of three chapbooks: Every Her Dies (ELJ Publications,) Clotheshorse (Finishing Line Press, 2014,) and Backyard Poems (Dancing Girl Press, forthcoming 2015.) Recent work can be seen / is forthcoming at Toad Suck Review, Red Savina Review, The Poetry Storehouse, Bareknuckle Poet: Journal of Letters, Quail Bell Magazine, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Flapperhouse, and Hobart.
