the overlook

yesterday the sun lay beside
me in my bed, crisp, sober,
and rich against the indian curtains.
outside my window,
i was only a speck,
but i still believed it was
mine for the taking.

i made plans to build a swing,
and listed out the cities i
would consider calling home.

paul revere

don't you dare call me a child
i've lived more lives than all of
yours added together.

i'll only go if you ask me,
and only if you know without
being told.
anyone who knows anything
without being told
has caught me in his trap.

so be gracious with me.

i spun a top that an old love made,
and you the carpenter, confident,
waited for it to fall and, disgruntled,
declared it impossible when it spun eternal.

the top looked like an acorn,
or the kentucky derby,
either one, so long as the horses
shine red in the sun.

i have nothing beautiful to say,
only half-spit confessions.

if you uncovered the heart of this,
the heart of me,
what would you say? what would
you want to say?

guarded eyes,
bristling like the bastille,
and i feel that you are both
examining and warning me.

warning.
how many lanterns do you
hold behind your back?

post-tattoo

the mayans say it will all
be over soon--
if it is, i refuse to be
caught daydreaming
at the end.

with my head in the
clouds as the only solid
earth dissolves out from
under my feet.

i refuse to die petty,
griping, or in sloth.

i won't allow my body to rust
while my heart dreams
of another world.

this is the earth
and i stand on it.
tether my feet to the ground
and fetter my heart to thee.

pins and needles

it's because we bought our
pictures pre-framed
that i can't
scrub you from my mind

friday the thirteenth
and a sewing machine
embroidering my new crest
on my shoulder:

i wave it like a banner,
warding you off and
crossing myself.

i will tune my heart
to anything but you

watching but never seeing--
we're all too far away
from someone

--it takes time to tame a fox.

you bought me from k-mart?

dad's mustache,
rolled up like a striped awning,
stored deep in his ear.

pale blue atlas club

thank you for the top,

a spinning children's toy with yes
on one side and no
on the other,
to make up my mind
for me.

thank you, but i've
always had a mind of my own.

i'm wearing the canvas shoes
another girl left in the back
of your car
while the redcoats invade somalia
and my mouth, mining

my teeth,
ripping white picket fence posts
out of their sockets
leaving rubyred pits

filling their coffers.
i stand resolute,
turning my other cheek.

december 1st

i want to sleep through all the lasts,
pull the covers up over my head
and skip the ending.

the endings.

the peeling away after months of layers.
i can't walk that way anymore,
they're grown to be more than ghosts,
congealed, and barricading my path.

i harp, i harp, but
every four months i open my
eyes to a foreign room with a foreign view
while my soul's landscape
remains german.

you're shaking my foundation
and i'm crumbling all over again.

"homesick because i no longer
know where home is."

kings, i never knew.
i match the scenery surrounding the rhein.
i blend into the black forest background,
like a figure who leapt out of a chagall
and clashes everywhere
until she is pasted back in.

a colour portrait wandering through
greyscale frames, or vice versa.

the say i look always to be at ease.
are you blind?
or am i so well disguised?
it must be the mustache.

niagara falls

barreling through the days,
throwing wisecracks like firecrackers
over my shoulder,
never watching where i'm walking,

lamp-posted.

barreling. in a barrel.
it's dark and warm,
here inside my shell.

merriment: lacquered?
SOAKING.

baklava me, layer and drench me
until i am merry through and through,
honeyed, rich, and shining.